Temporary Insanity
by arbitrary
Summary: Don't dip your quill in the company ink... I should have known better than to get involved with my boss, but who knew would lead to me, back on the job market, and Malfoy with a job offer I couldn't refuse? literally. I'm back!
1. letters

Alright. this is my first Harry Potter fanfic, and, honestly, I feel both too old to be writing this, and too inexperienced (I don't feel that I'm nearly good enough to measure up to the standard that J. K. R. has set for Harry Potter). But here it is, anyway. A lot different from my other stuff, too. . . in fact, I feel like this plot just screams "Romantic Comedy" and wouldn't be surprised if it either has already been done in one movie or another, or will be soon. Usually I steer well away from that stuff in my writing, but, c'est la vie.  
  
Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter, or I'd be way to busy relaxing by the pool in my huge mansion to ever write fanfiction.  
  
Enjoy. . .  
  
For the first time in four and a half years, I, Hermione Granger, ex- Hogwarts Head Girl, current NEWTs record holder, and, as Witch Weekly termed me upon my graduation, "quite possibly the cleverest witch the wizarding world has seen in the last hundred years" (though I really wouldn't go that far), was going to be on the job market.  
  
I could practically hear the prospective employers salivating as I handed my letter of resignation over to Mad Eye Moody, head of the Ministry of Magic's Auror department. I didn't want to. . . not really. But circumstances were beyond my control.  
  
Besides, since Voldemort had been rotting in a pine box for over a year, there wasn't nearly enough "bad" in the world to keep our department very busy. It was only a matter of time before the pink slips started flying, and this was my way of bowing out gracefully.  
  
And, of course there was the fact that Harry had quit almost immediately after burying Godrick Gryffindor's sword up to the hilt in Voldemort's chest cavity, and seemed intent on living out the rest of his life calmly, and without incident, in a cottage somewhere in Scotland, snuggling by the fire with his wife, Cho. Not that I could really blame him, Harry Potter had had enough excitement in the first 21 years of his life to last him the next 60.  
  
And Ron had quit shortly after that. He was a great Auror, but his heart wasn't really in it. It was pretty clear to everyone he was only there to support Harry. Ron's first love had always been Quiddich, and I'm sure he'd be happier being a waterboy for the Cuddley Cannons than a first class Auror.  
  
Of course, Harry had loved Quiddich too, and I think that if it hadn't been for Voldemort, he may have gone on to be a world class seeker. Now he just wants peace. . . but I digress.  
  
The point is, it's just not the same here without them.  
  
So, two very good reasons to leave, I don't even need to think about the other one. . .  
  
"Expected as much," Moody said, nodding and looking over my letter. He looked up a moment later, "got something else lined up?"  
  
I contemplated lying to him. Moody put up a gruff front, sometimes, but I knew that he'd be worried if he thought I might end up jobless.  
  
I say that I only contemplated lying to him, because we were in Moody's office at the time, and I was sitting a scant two feet in front of Moody's beloved sneak-o-scope. I swear that just the thought of dishonesty, however good my intentions were, made the air around me hum dangerously.  
  
"Not exactly," I sighed in relief, as the air calmed down. I'm sure it was just my imagination, but I'd spent too many years in the company of Harry and Ron as students to be comfortable with a sneak-o-scope so close to me. "I do have a few leads, and" and I'm sure I blushed here, "the offers haven't exactly stopped coming since I graduated from Hogwarts. I'm confident that I can have something lined up before my two weeks are up."  
  
Moody gave me a look, one eyebrow cocked, a glint in his eye, and the ghost of a slightly unpleasant smile on his lips. I'd seen him give the same look to suspects before questioning. I was justifiably nervous.  
  
"This seems a little impulsive for you, Miss Granger, do you mind if I ask what brought this on?"  
  
Oh? Is that all? What was I worried about? Here was a question that I could answer. I should be able to, after all, I'd been practicing the answer to this question all bloody week. I was so relieved, in fact, that when I opened my mouth, this is what came out:  
  
"Er. . . Harry, Ron. . . Pink slips. . . Chuddley Cannons Waterboy. . ." Eloquently put 'Mione. I cleared my throat, and took a breath and started over again. "That is to say. . . with Voldemort dead, and Harry and Ron gone, and the office terribly overstaffed, I wonder why I'm still here."  
  
Moody looked unconvinced. "Harry, Ron, and impending pink slips?"  
  
I resisted the urge to add "oh my!" and nodded dumbly instead.  
  
"So. . . this wouldn't have anything to do with Magnus Whittier, then?" oh boy. . . the 200,000 galleon question.  
  
Magnus Whittier. Tall, athletic, roguish smile, and perfect wheat colored hair that hung defiantly in his eyes, giving him a boyish sort of appeal.  
  
I must have gone positively white, because Moody gave me a sympathetic look.  
  
Okay, fine. Magnus Whittier. . . the third reason for my resignation. He was a fellow Auror, the leader of my module, and up until about ten days ago my secret lover. Now he's much more like a not-so-secret Ex. . . our break up was quite public. And noisy. Like a train wreck. Honestly, though, he should have expected it. That's what happens when your girlfriend finds you taking a dip in the "steno pool."  
  
Bastard.  
  
Not that I'd let that prat push me out of a job I loved. Really.  
  
". . . because we could have you transferred into another module, or something, if that were the case." Moody continued.  
  
I stopped him with a wave. What did it matter, my time here was limited as it was. "No, don't bother. Really. We both know that if I stay, it would just be delaying the inevitable anyway."  
  
He shook his head, and smiled. Secretly, I think he liked my stubbornness. I thought he might miss it. "Alright. I can't really stop you. I'm sure you'll land on your feet, anyway."  
  
I exited Moody's office a moment later, and looked out on the Auror floor, desk after desk in neat rows, with not so neat paperwork piled on top of them, being ignored by Auror's who were apparently not so busy with said paperwork that they couldn't all look up at me upon my entrance. Subtle guys. My desk was on the other side of a sea of questioning eyes, and false sympathy. It seemed as though my co-workers had nothing better to do than follow the sordid details of Hermione Granger's love life. Not that my resignation had anything to do with my love life. It was a valid career decision.  
  
At least, that's what I told myself.  
  
A woman I'd only talked to at the water cooler came up behind me and patted me on the back like she was an old friend. "Don't worry, dear, I'm sure you'll find something soon." I suddenly wanted to scream.  
  
Was there any aspect of my life these people didn't know? But of course they did. It was only painfully obvious why I'd gone to see Moody, and now everyone wanted details. Every one, it appeared, except for Magnus, who was hunched over his desk, working diligently.  
  
Ha! Magnus never worked diligently, he was avoiding my gaze. Just like I was avoiding everyone else's as I waded my way to my desk, and pulled my purse off it, slinging it over my shoulder before heading out the door without a backward glance. I had two weeks to use up almost five years worth of personal days. Might as well start now.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
What's faster than the speed of light? The answer to this question is apparently the spread of gossip among wizards. It was only four hours after I'd walked out on a room full of nosy fellow Aurors, and now I was bent over the table, and maneuvering a letter opener deftly with my right hand, opening letter after letter.  
  
Dear Miss Granger,  
  
It has come to our attention that you are currently seeking employment. . .  
  
Dear Miss Granger,  
  
I am writing in regards to the news that you will shortly be available for employment. . .  
  
Dear Miss Granger,  
  
It's time to renew your subscription to Witch Weekly. . .  
  
Okay, so they weren't all job offers, but a good many of them were. Enough that I felt confident in my ability to "land on my feet" as Moody had put it.  
  
Sitting at my kitchen table, my tea cup cradled to my chest with one hand, and a letter in the other, I felt calm for the first time in weeks. And I had to admit, this was one hell of an ego boost. I mean, I'd just quit my job, and already the mail was flying in. The proverbial body wasn't even cold yet.  
  
That is, I was calm, and satisfied, and riding the high of being desirable (I felt like a right 'belle of the ball'), and then I came upon a letter somewhere to the middle of the stack.  
  
It was addressed to Hermione Granger, my name printed in curt looking black letters. The return address was conspicuously missing from the envelope. Junk mail. I started to toss it aside, but as I did, the light seemed to hit the letters, causing the ink to flash green, and my palms practically itched to hold it again. A moment later, I was ripping it open, my fingers moving seemingly of their own volition. I wasn't stupid, I knew a compelling spell when I saw one. Someone must have wanted to make sure I read this letter.  
  
There was, of course, only one way to find out who was so desperate to get my attention, so I let my hands work, until they were holding a piece of parchment before me, and I read.  
  
Dear Miss Granger,  
  
I have need of your services. The position of my personal assistant has recently become open again, and while it pains me to admit it, you are the most intelligent witch it has ever been my misfortune to meet. Yes, I may detest you, and would rather soak my head in a vat of boiling oil than have a conversation with you, but you are most certainly the best choice for this job.  
  
I look forward to your reply.  
  
Sincerely,  
Draco L. Malfoy  
  
For a moment I was too stunned to formulate a reply. I just sat there, mouth agape, blinking furiously, and hoping each time I closed my eyes I'd open them to find the letter had been a figment of my imagination. No such luck.  
  
Soon, however, I'd worked my way from shock to anger.  
  
Only Draco Malfoy would insult someone and offer them a job in the same breath, and still expect them to accept.  
  
I grabbed a quill, and a sheet of parchment and began to write my reply.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Dear Mr. Malfoy,  
  
"I can't believe that even you would be self-centered enough to think that I would ever work for you! Personal assistant? Ha! There's no way I would ever do your dirty work, Malfoy.  
  
" I look forward to your painful death.  
  
"Sincerely,  
"Hermione Granger"  
  
"You didn't!" came Ron's shocked reply.  
  
I sat around a table far off in one corner of the Leaky Cauldron with my two best friends, and had just finished relating my day to them.  
  
"I most certainly did," I replied, sounding quite proud of myself. It wasn't often that I shocked Ron Weasley, after all, and every time I managed it, he'd get this cute sort of perplexed look on his face. "And the stupid git deserved it too. I can't believe he said he'd rather stick his head in boiling oil than carry on a conversation with me."  
  
"I don't know," Harry chimed in, smiling mischievously, "I can sort of see where he'd coming from."  
  
"Watch it, Harry Potter," I intoned threateningly, "or you won't see anything but stars for several hours."  
  
Ron snorted, and began chuckling lowly. A moment later, Harry picked it up too, and before long, even I couldn't keep the mock-serious look on my face. And then the three of us were laughing together.  
  
We talked for a while longer, the subject wandering from reminiscence of our years at Hogwarts, to how married life was treating Harry, to questions about why Ron hadn't settled down (to which he replied "God, you two are starting to sound like my mother,") to question's about my relationship with Magnus (like what I'd ever seen in him to begin with. . . that was from me, and why I hadn't killed him. . . which was also from me. . . to an uncomfortable "why don't we change the subject," which was from Harry) and finally to Ron's recent employment at his brother's joke shop. Testing gags. Dear lord, if that wasn't an example of Gryffindor bravery, I don't know what is.  
  
Finally, Harry glanced at his watch, and then gave us both a huge smile.  
  
"Listen guys, it's getting late, and Cho expected me back an hour ago," he stood up, signaling the end of our dinner. He gave each of us a hug and apparated away, leaving Ron and I to stare at each other.  
  
"Well, see you later Ron, next Thursday, with Harry at the latest." I leaned in to give him a hug, but he stepped backward, looking all too serious.  
  
"'Mione, the reply you sent to Malfoy, it didn't really say what you said it did. . . did it?"  
  
"Of course, Ron, why would I lie about it?" I said with a grin, but Ron looked dead serious. "Come on, Ron, what's the matter?"  
  
"It's just," he paused, and sighed, "you know how Malfoy was, I'm just worried that he won't be able to let that sort of an insult slide. He's powerful, and he could make things difficult for you."  
  
Ron was worried for me, it was so sweet, I almost smiled. "Don't worry about me, Ron Weasley, I'm not afraid of the Big Bad Malfoy." And with that, I embraced my friend, and this time he didn't try to step away.  
  
"I know you aren't."  
  
And I wasn't. But I should have been. 


	2. rejection and the dead ferret

I sighed, and closed the door to my flat, shrugging the strap of my laptop case gently off my shoulder, and onto the floor. It was followed by a folder, which I dropped out of my hands much less gently, before trudging into the living room and throwing my purse into my worn, red armchair with quite a bit more force than I had originally intended. Myself, I dropped unceremoniously onto the matching (as in down to the threadbare arms and lumpy cushions) red couch. 

I absent-mindedly fingered a small circular hole in one of those lumpy cushions. It was a hole that had been left there by one of Magnus' post-coital cigarettes, almost two months ago. I kept meaning to have it fixed.

Damn him. Like this couch wasn't bad enough.

I frowned, and flipped the cushion over, not wanting to think about him right now.

I suppose there was one good thing to come out of this whole mess. An Auror's salary wasn't exactly. . . glamorous. It wasn't terrible either, it paid the bills, and put food on the table, and left me a little to stash away in savings every month, but with a new job, I could afford some new furniture. 

Which, of course, brought my mind back to my job, the very subject that had caused the mistreatment of my purse. 

I'd gone in early, you see, having decided that I couldn't simply hangout for two weeks, despite the temptation to use all my vacation time in one fell swoop. My objective was to finish some long-neglected paperwork, and prepare my most recently closed cases for trial. 

I was the first one there, which was no surprise I suppose, since I got to the office at about half past six, and, for over an hour, I sat, alone, hunched over my desk. It was nice. With no one else in the office, I could at least *pretend* that this was a normal day. 

Then the other Aurors started to trickle in.

The water cooler woman, who, after several brain wracking hours the previous night, I'd remembered was named Lydia, was one of the first, walking past me, and casting me a sympathetic glance. God, they were treating me like I was going to be executed, or something. Or like I'd just lost my best friend. 

Her reaction wasn't uncommon, unfortunately, as Auror after Auror gave me nods, and pats on the head upon entering the office. I wanted to scream at everyone to stop treating me like a grieving widow. Or a puppy. What was with those head-pats, anyway?

But of course, I kept my mouth shut, and fumed in silence, making a point of ignoring all those annoying stares, and focus on the files in front of me. It worked, somewhat, I managed to tune them out and get some work done, and it seemed that perhaps the day was not lost.

Until Magnus walked in. 

I didn't notice him come in, what I did notice the sudden tense hush that fell over the room. Like everyone was holding their breath and waiting for the explosion. And it came.

At that moment, I stood up, threw my laptop in its case, tucked the Nott file under one arm and stood up. 

I ducked my head into Moody's office to inform him that I'd be working from home that day, then turned back to the floor. 

Once again, all eyes were on me.

"Oh, for god sake, don't you people have lives, and such?" I glared across the room, "get back to work."

And these were the events that lead up to this particular instance of handbag brutality.

I sighed, remembering the Nott file. Two inches of folder, jam packed with allegations, accusations, and evidence, all for me to sort before handing it over to the prosecution, just so Nott's high priced lawyer could tear holes in it. Unless, of course, I could make sense of the madness between it's covers. 

I cast a glance back into the doorway, at my mound-o-crap, and groaned. Suddenly, and very uncharacteristically, I didn't feel like doing any work. What I really felt like was a nice cup of tea.

I heaved myself off the couch, and headed into the kitchen. I'm sure I heard the bathroom mirror shatter at my scream.

There, sitting on a stack of mail, was Malfoy.

Okay, sure, it was just a picture of Malfoy. One that grace the cover of my issue of Witch Weekly, along with the caption "Europe's Most Eligible Wizard," but it was disturbing as hell. The Magazine Malfoy's smirk was almost as annoying as the real thing, and I suddenly wished that I'd learned origami, so that I could fold him into a crane, or a paper hat, or something with a lot of creases on it. Instead, I settled for the next best thing. I chucked the magazine into the garbage, directly onto last week's issue, and watched happily as the smirk on the picture turned into a look of pure horror. 

I thought the picture might have mouthed "what do you think you're doing?" as I slipped the lid back onto the trash. 

"Most Eligible Wizard, indeed," I snorted. Was there ever a more inane publication, for sillier witches than Witch Weekly?

I was just glad that the 12 months was almost over, and my subscription was about to lapse. It had been a gag gift from Harry and Ron for my birthday the previous year. Revenge for constant replies of "just get me something I can _read_" to their inquiries about my present preferences. Ron had said that it took a long time to choose between that, and a phone book. 

This year I planned to be much more communicative about my birthday wishes.

Now, with my mug in my hand, and the initial shock of seeing Malfoy in my kitchen beginning to fade, I sat down to look over the rest of my mail. I sorted them into two piles: personal and professional.

Into the personal pile I put: a letter from Ron, and invitation to Lavender Brown's wedding (wow, I hadn't even known she was engaged), a thank you card from Ginny, for the set of drawing quills I bought her for her birthday last month, and a reminder from Harry that we were meeting at Archibald's next Thursday, as the Leaky Cauldron was going to be closed for repairs.

Into the professional pile, I put: an inquiry from the Paris Zoo of Magical Creatures, questioning from the London Wizard's Symphony, requests from Douglas and Darcy Advertizing, pleas from Bartebly Insurance (insurance companies can always use good investigators) and, oddest of all, a proposition from Nine Inch Wands, a wizard band in need of a new agent (to which I replied "like the name, and the demo was interesting, guys, something in between Billy Idol, and the Weird Sisters, but I'd make a terrible agent" then directed them to a guy I knew). 

I'd just finished with my mail, and was stealing myself to start on the Nott file, when I heard a tapping at my window. 

The great horned owl I recognized immediately as Magnus's bird, Carlise. What I couldn't understand was what he could possibly want. 

It was more curiosity than any sort of desire to ever communicate with him again that made me open the window and let the bird in. 

Carlise circled once, before landing on the sill, so I could ruffle her feathers in a manner I knew she found pleasant. She clicked her beak at me in a way that seemed to say "long time, no see."

"I couldn't agree more, girl." I replied, and smoothed out the feathers I had just fluffed up. "So, what have you got for me, then?" I said, trying to keep my voice even, and unstrained. Carlise was, of course, too perceptive to fall for that. Hell, I bet even Ron would have been too perceptive to fall for it. She deposited the roll of parchment into my hand, then gave me a reassuring nibble on the ear, before launching herself back out my window.

I regarded the parchment in my hand's warily, before I unrolled it. 

I didn't get more than a few lines into it, before I crumpled it up, and sent it to join my Witch Weeklys with a shriek of rage.

The bastard. . . of all the stupid. . . had THE NERVE. . I can't believe. . . these were among the jumbled, angry thoughts that leapt into my mind all at once. 

Of course, there were those mandatory masochistic thoughts as well. . . the "what's wrong with me?". . . "what did I do wrong?". . . "maybe if I begged?". . . and my all time favorite, "I must deserve this." These thoughts, however, I pushed away. They were just the normal thoughts, and doubts any person has when they catch their lover cheating. Of course I knew that my only *real* mistake was getting involved with a jerk like Magnus to begin with, but only someone who is so self centered they don't think they could possibly do wrong can completely banish those sorts of thoughts.

I bet Draco Malfoy never wondered where he went wrong when his relationships went sour.

Here's what Magnus's letter said.

_Dear Hermione,_

I know we can never reconcile after what happened, but I never meant 

to hurt you (shagging a secretary in the ladies room, explain your altruistic motives behind that!). I don't expect you to forgive me, but don't you think that you're overreacting a bit? There's no reason for you to quit, as long as you're willing to work through this like an adult. . .

This was the point where the letter found it's way into the wastebasket, and I didn't read the rest.

More condescending bullshit, no doubt.

Suddenly I felt that it was necessary for me to expel some anger, and since Magnus wasn't there for me to beat bloody of, I did the next best thing. I went into my room, and came out five minutes later in my tee shirt and sweats, with my CD player zipped into my belt bag. I bent over to tie my shoes, then hit the play button.

When I run, nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. . . it's just me, the pulse of the music, the pounding of my feet, the beating of my heart, the breath in my lungs. When I run, I can forget anything. Right now, I wanted to forget everything. 

I'm flying now. 

Running also made me sharper, brought me into focus, cleared my head so I could think about what I really needed to. Like the Nott file.

I ran until I was exhausted, until every step was agony, until my lungs ached, until the blood in my ears drowned out the music. I ran until I had to apparate home, because every step was agony, and when I appeared in the kitchen, I knew just how to present the evidence to the prosecutor, so he could present his case.

*********

"Yeah, I think the feeding frenzy's finally died down," I said, over a raised glass of scotch. I was always partial to the muggle drink. It made me think fondly of my father, going over papers in his study, after work, while he sipped at a glass of the pale, amber colored liquid. It was always just the one glass, right before bed, and when he came to kiss me goodnight, his breath would smell faintly of cedar. 

Harry regarded me from across the table, eyebrow raised, and Ron propped his elbow on to his place mat, his chin onto his fist, and wrinkled his nose at me. "How so?" they said in unison.

I stifled a giggle. That was one sure sign that you'd been friends with someone for a very long time indeed. "The 'fan mail,'" as I had begun calling the constant job offers, "has tapered off. About time, too, I was tired of taking and hour to open my mail every day."

"Hmm. . ." said Harry, his eyebrows knitting together, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, I was about to ask him what had started that machine running, when Ron asked,

"So, any good prospects?"

"Well, I haven't heard back from Bartelby's yet, but I have an interview with the London Wizards Symphony tomorrow."

"London Wizards Symphony? But 'Mione, you don't even play an instrument."

I gave him a grin, "they need a new Events Coordinator, someone to organize the fund raisers, and deal with the advertising, and things like that, you silly prat.

"Which reminds me," I continued, pushing my chair back, "I have to leave early tonight, otherwise, I'll sleep through the whole thing." I gave each of my friends a hug. "wish me luck boys," I said, right before disapparating. 

I'd forgotten to ask Harry what was on his mind.

*******

Last night, I'd received one letter. It another reminder to renew my Witch Weekly subscription.

That's why it was a good thing that I was doing so well in my interview at the LWS. I was charming, I was intelligent, and I was ever so hirable. Jefferson Cougan seemed to think so, at least, because he kept dropping hints that I already had the job, if I wanted it, and I was about to come right out and say that I did, when the phone rang. 

The phone. . . rang? I wasn't used to seeing muggle pieces like that in wizarding establishments, but now that I looked around the room, I noticed quite a few muggle items. Even the lamp on his desk was electric. The guy must be a collector.

"Who is this? I'm in an interview, it better be import-, oh. . . oh, I see. Quite right. No, no, no. . . I wouldn't want that. . . and I certainly wouldn't want _that" _ he was nodding, "I understand. And a good day to you, Sir."

He replaced the phone on the receiver, and cleared his throat nervously.

"Miss Granger, I'm sorry, but I regret to inform you that the position has been filled." 

It didn't take an ex-Auror to know he was lying. And it didn't take one to know who was on the other end of that phone. Who was wealthy, a major contributor to the symphony, and a vindictive son of a bitch. 

*********

My last day as an auror was approaching, and I was getting desperate. That was why I'd come to Douglas and Darcy that day. The seeming unending spring of job offers had dried up, and Douglas and Darcy was my last hope before I applied at a McDougal's Wizard Burger as a fry cook. 

I wasn't happy when I called at 9 o'clock this morning, and they said that, no, the position had not been filled, and yes, they'd be happy to see me. I was thrilled.

It didn't really come as any shock, though, as I sat there in my perfectly pressed white button shirt, and navy skirt and jacket, when Mr. J. Alan Darcy, opened his mouth and said:

"er. . . uh, actually, that position has been filled."

"Excuse me?" I wasn't shocked, no, but I was still angry. Vindictive, slimy, smarmy little rat faced git. 

"I said the position has been filled."

"I know what you said," I returned with a snarl, "what I meant was that I talked to you at 9, and it was still open. It's now," I glanced at the clock over my shoulder, "12:48, are you telling me you've found someone in the last three and a half hours?"

"He gave a good interview," J. Darcy said weakly.

"What'd he do, give you a blow job?" what the hell, it didn't really matter what this guy thought of me, Malfoy'd obviously had me black listed, and no one was going to hire me, whether J. Alan Darcy told everyone I'd accused him of accepting sexual favors for work appointments, or not.

Darcy was understandably shocked. He stood there with his mouth agape for a good thirty seconds before he stuttered a reply. "No. . . absolutely. . . well, I never!"

"You should, might help you relax a bit."

"He came highly recommended," Darcy now looked highly flustered.

"Let me make this simple, Mr. Darcy, which one of your illustrious clients recommended this man for the job? Was it Casten Wool? No? Maybe the Grandma's Strudel account? Not that one either? How about Malfoy International? Was it that company, Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy seemed ready to choke.

"Thought so," I said, and got up out of my chair. I had a little visit to pay to a certain ferret.

*********

"Excuse me, you can't go in there," the nasal tones of the receptionist entered my ears as I approached Malfoy's private lift. "Did you hear me," she said , moving out from behind her desk, and coming dangerously close to laying her hands on me. Dangerous for her, of course. "I said you can't-" before she could grasp my shoulder with that hand she was reaching for me with, I shoved my badge in her face. "Oh. . . " she swallowed hard, "um, do you have a warrant?"

"Probable cause," I informed her, as the lift doors slid open, and I stepped into the red velvet lined interior. "Plush," I muttered, appreciatively, I hit the button labeled with the Malfoy crest, and the doors slid closed. 

After fifteen minutes of easy listening, I realized what all that velvet was for. So you didn't cause yourself permanent brain damage when the music caused you to begin banging your head into the wall. I groaned. Fuck sake, how many floors did this building have?

I was almost at the point where I was ready to pry the doors open, and end my misery by means of a 100-odd story fall, when the doors slid open by themselves, and I found myself staring at a large, mahogany desk, flanked on either side by a carved onyx panther. The statues followed my movements in an eerie fashion, as I stepped out of the elevator. God, but they were creepy! With a shudder, I surveyed the rest of the room, as an excuse to avert my eyes. Hm. . . all the walls were lined with shelves, some of which contained preserved animal skeletons, and oddly shaped igneous rocks. Shells of long extinct mollusks. Several ornately carved dragons of many different materials. But mostly, the shelves contained books. Dusty, old, beautiful books. 

It caused me to catch my breath.

Then a low chuckle drew my attention back to the desk, where the chair was now turned around, facing the lift. And sitting in the chair was none other than, "Malfoy."

"In the flesh."

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Wow, another update so soon. . . didn't know I had it in me. Okay, so I already mentioned that I own nothing, so I don't see any reason to state it again. 

Anyway, just thought I'd mention that when I post chapter 3, I also want to do a clear chapter 1 with it, so if anyone has any bones, now is the time to pick them. 

Anywhoo. . . hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	3. damned if you do, damned if you don't

Argh! The Malfoy/Granger scene was a real pain to write. . . got through it though. 

Enjoy. . . 

*

*

*

Right away, I could see why Witch Weekly had called him 'Europe's Most Eligible Wizard.' His money. Draco Malfoy was, in my opinion, too short, too slender, and too bloody *pale* to be a 'heart throb,' and too sarcastic, too surly, and too all around nasty to be anyone's idea of charming. As far as I could see, the only thing he had to offer the young witches of Europe was a sizable fortune. 

Well. . . he did have those eyes going for him. Slate gray, and intense. Arresting, seemed to be the best adjective for it. Arresting. . . Especially since, right now, he seemed intent on nailing my feet to the floor with them. I was dismayed to find that it was working. 

I suppose, all things considered, this was a good thing, since it overrode my initial impulse to approach the mahogany desk, and proceed to smash Malfoy's face into it. 

The tongue lashing I'd prepared for him would be much more effective were he not unconscious.

Speaking of which.

"Malfoy," I said again, managing to pronounce his name in such a way as to make it synonymous with the word 'bastard.'

"Yes, Granger, I believe we've established that," He drawled in an that almost bored tone that made my wand hand itch.

He spoke again before I could reply, which was just as well, since what I'd been about to say, derogatory comments on the marital status of his parents, and whether or not they were, in fact, human, would have just made me look childish and petty. They were true, but childish and petty.

"Well, well, it has been a while, hasn't it?" he asked.

It figures, I come here to beat him senseless because he was ruining my life, and he acts like I'm an old school-chum, just stopped by for a visit. And he was being altogether too smug. A smug Malfoy, I had learned, was a Malfoy with a plot. Of course, so was a happy Malfoy, and a melancholy Malfoy, and any other sort of Malfoy, as well. I was understandably nervous. 

"Not nearly long enough," I replied warily.

One corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, and his eyes glittered with amusement. "When *was* the last time we saw each other, Granger?" he asked, almost absently.

He knew very well the last time we'd seen each other. The prat. 

"Your father's trial, I believe."

"Ah, yes…" he said, as though he'd just remembering, then he leaned back in his chair, his smirk managing to look even more self-satisfied than before. "Dear old Dad. . . you know, he'd be sitting in this chair right now, if he hadn't been sent back to Azkaban." His voice held a note of sorrow that contrasted sharply with the look of malicious pleasure in his eyes. "Pity"

A pity? Tell me another one Malfoy. Here he had control of his father's company, and he didn't even have to wait for the geezer to die 

"Indeed," I responded, "It most certainly is a pity. If only we'd been able to find enough evidence to put both Malfoy's behind bars," I finished with a wistful note in my voice.

"Please," Malfoy scoffed, "you can't find what isn't there. My record is squeaky clean, Darling."

"Suspiciously so," I agreed.

Malfoy, however, refused to be riled, and simply chuckled. 

"As wonderful as it has been, catching up like this," I said, bristling slightly, "that isn't why I'm here."

"And why are you here, Granger?"

"You know very well why I'm here Malfoy," he raised one brow in an a question we both knew was unnecessary.

"Humor me."

I was ready to explode, "You think you can just throw your power around, do you? Think you can just bully people into giving you your way, is that it? Well, I've got news for you, you slimy git, you horrible prat, you pestilence upon the face of wizard kind, *I* will not be bullied!" 

Did I say 'ready to explode?' what I meant was 'in the process of exploding. 

"I already told you, I'm not taking the assistant job, so BACK OFF!."

Apparently, I'd just said the magic words. He leaned forward again, steepling his hands in front of his chin, and smiling a slow, triumphant smile. "Why, Ms Granger, the assistant job has already been filled."

"This isn't about the assistant job so much as it's about you being a selfish, self centered, vengeful little prat. . . " I began to rage, then his statement hit me. Like a sucker punch to the jaw. Wait a minute. "The position has been filled?" I asked, in a weak voice.

Malfoy nodded, smiling in pure pleasure. It was possibly the first honest smile I'd seen from him.

It was bloody creepy.

"But, if the position is. . . but. . . why?"

My answer came floating toward me in the neatly folded shape of a paper airplane.

I unfolded it, noticing as I did, the hardened look that had just come into Malfoy's eyes.

My own eyes scanned the paper in front of me, and as the realization of what I held hit me, I let out a groan. 

"You look forward to my 'painful death,' eh?" he inquired, with a raised eyebrow.

"Bloody hell."

This wasn't about having his way. This wasn't about getting what he wanted. This was about revenge. This was about putting me in my place. 

"Christ," I said in sudden exasperation, "can you just stop acting like a spoilt 12-year-old."

That damned smirk was really starting to irk me.

"But I don't wanna," he mocked, in his best nasally pre-teen-whine-imitation. 

That was it. The last straw. I felt whatever stopping power his eyes had on me dissipate, and lunged forward, drawing my wand. And immediately turned beet red, and stumble to a stop a foot from leaping his desk as he regarded me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

You see, I'd been in such a hurry to confront Malfoy, that I'd not bothered to change out of my interview clothes. It was a nice suit, easily the nicest I owned. Tailor made, and quite flattering. I rarely wore it, however, since the jacket had no wand pocket. The tailor had assured me that to put one in would ruin the line of the suit. I couldn't, of course, go without my wand. Thank Auror training for that one. The solution : a concealed wand-holster, strapped to my thigh. The problem: any attempt to reach my wand resulted in showing an unseemly amount of my legs.

Fat lot of good that thigh holster did me. I was now too embarrassed to utter a single curse.

"If you're trying to get me to change my mind about the assistant job, Granger, I've already told you, it's been filled," he said, his voice bland, but his eyes sparking with amusement.

God, did any two of his features ever agree on an emotion?

It took a moment before I trusted myself to speak through the jumbled anger, and mortification I was feeling. 

"What, exactly, are you playing at Malfoy?" I said, voicing concerns that had been growing in the back of my mind, a looming dark thought. This isn't over. He's not finished with me yet. "And don't you dare play innocent with me, you came out sinning, and we both know that. We also both know that you're the reason I'm not already employed."

"It occurs to me that , though I can no longer offer you the assistant position, I do have one opening I think would be just *perfect* for you."  


"If not the assistant job, Malfoy, then what?"

A deft flick of his wrist, and a white card appeared between his thumb and index finger. A wizard Malfoy may be, but that little trick of his hadn't used any magic. Just fast hands. A seeker's reflexes? 

I took the card he proffered, and read:

28 Blunderbus ln, London

That was in Diagon Alley, I remembered.

I raised my eyes to his, and once again, found myself transfixed. 

"Be there, tomorrow, 8:30 a.m. sharp. You'll meet a Tracy Higgins, and he'll give you this weeks assignment."

"Assignment?"

"Yes, Granger, you are now an employee of Malfoy International, Temporary Services."

I believe it's possible that my jaw actually made contact with the floor.

"Now," he continued smoothly, as I could only stutter in reply, "I believe we're finished here." He punctuated this statement by hitting a button on his desk, and a moment later, one of the bookshelves swung inward to reveal a hidden door, with a leggy blonde standing in it.

The new assistant, I surmised, and sniffed. I harbored serious doubts about the possibility that she was hired for her typing abilities rather than her plunging neckline, and too-short skirt. I felt a twinge of something. . . no, not jealousy. . . not exactly anyway. It was more like. . . being insulted. This was supposed to be ***my* **job, after all. Seeing it handed over to a woman who was obviously only there as eye-candy was like a physical slap.

"Draco," she said, in a low, husky, near-seductive voice. Oh perfect, not only was she on a first name basis with her employer of less than one week, she had come into the office, obviously expecting to find him alone, and had immediately began to purr at him. "You calle. . ." at this point, she noticed me in the room and her voiced dropped several degrees, from steamy sex-kitten, to cold shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know you were in a meeting."

"No need to apologize, Jean. Actually, Ms. Granger was just leaving." 

Wait. . . was I? Oh I don't think so Malfoy, I'm not through with you yet!

"But," I began, before he cut me off.

"I'm afraid I really must insist. I have loads of work," at the word 'work,' he cast a pointed glance to Jean, and she seemed to puff up a bit with pride, "that I need to be doing."

Jean seemed all too eager to have me out of the room, though why she would *want* to be alone with Malfoy was beyond me. She stepped up and, before I realized what she was doing, grabbed my arm to lead me out the door. 

No one, and I mean _no one_ manhandles Hermione Granger, and that goes for sex-pot assistants, as well. At her touch, I wrung my arm from her grasp so violently, that I could feel the pop in my shoulder, followed by a shooting pain, which I ignored.

"Listen, Bimbo, If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you not bring it near me. I've a good idea where it's been. Touch me again, and they'll never find the pieces to have it re-attached." 

Jean cradled the threatened arm to her chest, a soft whimper issuing from her lips, and shot Malfoy an 'are you going to let her talk to me like that' look. 

"Come now, Granger,"

"Don't you 'come now, Granger,' *me*, Draco Malfoy," I said, turning my anger onto him, "I haven't agreed to anything, and WE ARE NOT THROUGH!" .

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, with a casual tone that made me want to feed him his own unmentionables. 

I nodded, and pulled back with a mild blush, embarrassed by my loss of control.

"Good," he said, in a tone that was now anything but casual. He was now cool, commanding, and obviously in control. I got the uneasy feeling that this was some sort of game he'd been playing (probably because it was) and now playtime was over. "In that case, I'd advise you to re-think your last statement. You are no longer in school, Granger, your test scores are meaningless here, and there is no Head Girl in this company. . . there is a Head Boy, however, and you'd do well to remember who that is." 

I gulped, then glared back at him, feeling intimidated, and not wanting to admit it. Even to myself. 

"Now, Granger," he said, evenly, enunciating every word "this conversation is over." A smile wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he continued, "unless, that is, you want to end up destitute." His smile darkened several shades to wicked, "I can make it happen, Granger." 

I tried to form a good reply, really I did, but I was too busy shivering. Something about the way he said my name. I decided it was distinctly unpleasant. A spider asking a fly to tea. 

Welcome to my parlor. . . 

I did manage an enraged foot-stomp, however, just before I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, nearly knocking Jean down as I passed her in the doorway. 

"8:30, tomorrow morning, Granger. . . don't forget," I heard him call after me.

I might have heard him chuckling as well, but it was drowned out by my own frustrated scream.

* 

*

*

*

"So, what's got your knickers so twisted, you couldn't even tell me about it over the floo?"

It took me a few minutes to run that statement through the section of my brain that handles things like voice recognition, and then formulate a reply. What can I say, I wasn't at my best. 

"You're late," I said, unable to lift my head off the counter to look at Ron as he slid into the seat next to me. Hm. . . he was wearing his brown shoes. Directly from work, then. 

"Started without me, I see," he said, lifting my head from where it was nestled amid half a dozen empty glasses. "Now, then," he said, angling my face so I could look him in the eye, "what's wrong?"

I stiffened slightly at the sight of him, sobered by the freshly blackened eye I was looking into. A quick glance at the rest of him revealed bandages peeking out from underneath his robes, as well. "Jesus, Ron! What's happened to you?"

He winced, and grumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said Fred and George!" he sighed in exasperation. "Right after you flooed, I was helping them unload some crates, when George decides it would be a good idea to break open a box of giggle powder all over me."

"Giggle powder?" I questioned.

He nodded, "laughed so hard, I bloody well bruised my ribs, didn't I?"

"And the black eye?"

"Fred. . . I jumped him by mistake, after the powder wore off, and he socked me one. Oh it was bloody _awful_, 'Mione." He ended in a near whine, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

He just gave me a dark scowl.

"I'm sorry, Ron. It's just. . ."

His features softened, "yeah, I know." He gave me a grin then, "hey, at least it's gotten you laughing, now maybe you can tell me what had you down."

"I suppose it's only fair," I mused. But how to put this. . . "Ron, you are about to be sharing cocktails with the newest employee of Malfoy International."

Ron gaped for all of about twenty seconds. It would have been longer, but the bartender happened along, and Ron took the opportunity to grab him by the lapels to demand a drink.

Twenty minutes later, with Ron two rounds down, and myself even more inebriated, I had filled Ron in on every detail of my truly miserable day, from the disastrous Douglas and Darcy interview to the moment five minutes before he walked in, when my head hit the counter. 

"Merlin, that's just awful," he said sympathetically, after a moment. 

"Tell me about it…"

"Hey, why didn't you call Harry about this? Not that I don't appreciate the favoritism, or anything," he grinned momentarily, "but you look like you need all the moral support you can get."

"Ron," I said, "it's Wednesday," as if that was all the answer he needed.

"Wednesday? So what, you think Harry wouldn't come to the aid of a friend, just because it's a Wednesday?"

"Ron, you know he and Cho are, um, trying. . . " I trailed off meaningfully.

"Trying wha- oh. . . "

I nodded, "Wednesday, or actually, the first Wednesday of the month (like today) is her most. . . receptive time."

Ron gulped.

"I didn't want to disturb anything."

"I should say not," Ron agreed, a look of discomfort on his face. After a moment he broke into a grin. "Could you imagine the look on his face if you interrupted their 'quality time' together? He'd probably look like he'd just eaten a flobberworm." Ron did a little impression, and I giggled.

That's why I loved Ron, even when I was having the worst day of my life, he could still make me smile. 

The worst day of my life.

I groaned, as the weight of my predicament came crashing down on me once again. 

"Oh god, Ron what am I going to do?" Now, I love Ron, but I think the fact that I was asking him for advice is an accurate indication of my level desperation. Or my level of intoxication. Whichever. 

"I reckon," he said, with uncharacteristic seriousness, "that you should call the Knight bus, and sleep it off, so you can make it to 28 Blunderbus ln tomorrow."

I was afraid he was going to say something like that.

*

*

*

*

Alright. . . I know I promised a revised chapter one with this, but what can I say. . . I'm just a lazy bastard. I'll get around to it. Anyway, just let me know what you think about this, and where I should make improvements when I edit.

Thanx much

ARBITRARY


	4. it's a dirty job

I just spent three hours in line at a midnight release, waiting for a copy of Order of the Phoenix at my local Borders, but now, it's just after two, and I'm finally at home. Safe, sound, and almost ready to start in on what I hope will be the best Harry Potter book yet. I'm postponing my joy, however, to crank out this chapter (not that you all don't have more important things to read right now!) 

So anyway, enjoy… you'd better, since I'm taking time out of my Harry Potter reading schedule to post this. ;)

*

*

*

I awoke to the sound of screeching, and sat up immediately, glancing around to locate the virgin that was obviously being sacrificed in the near vicinity. My eyes followed my ears to the nightstand, where my wand was sitting next to a tall glass of water. With a groan, I snatched the stick roughly, and muttered a sleep-slurred "_finite incantatum_." Instantly the shrill shriek ceased, and I collapsed back into my mattress, pulling my covers over me, intent on getting back to sleep.

It was at this time that I first became aware that the Chuddley Cannons were having a beater practice somewhere between my temporal lobe and hippocampus. This just would not do, I thought, as I slowly pulled myself back up into a sitting position. I was also becoming aware of the fact that just about every other muscle in my body was aching. And, oh yes, the nausea. 

I just love hangovers. 

With a groan that touched off a thousand tiny explosions in my head, I heaved myself off the bed, and by sheer force of will propelled myself out my bedroom door, and down the hallway to my kitchen. I turned on the light, then turned it back off again almost instantly, as the light hit my eyes, and the pain nearly drove my to my knees. Instead, I stumbled forward, in the near-pitch dark, and fumbled my way over to the refrigerator. 

I blinked several times as I opened it, but endured the agony of the refrigerator light. A necessary evil, since it was imperative that I retrieve the an egg and some tomato juice. Easier said than done, however, as the shells of said eggs seemed suddenly to be composed of a mixture of Teflon, and axle grease. Three of the little oval shaped bastards slipped from my uncoordinated hands and onto the floor before I managed to drag one out and make it to the counter without incident. 

Thankfully, the tomato juice was much easier to grip, and a moment later I was setting it down next to the egg.

My eyesight had now adjusted to the low light levels, which meant tearing through my cupboards on a mission for tobasco, pepper, and salt wasn't as difficult as it could have been. 

Now that I sat with all my ingredients assembled before me, it almost reminded me of potions class. . . except I never got piss drunk the night before a potions class, and had to brew the potion the next day with my head splitting in two. But other than that. . . 

I banished all thoughts of potions from my mind, and wrinkled my brow in focus. Now came the really difficult part, separating the egg, while ignoring the pain that jolted through my head. 

I sighed, then carefully, gently, cracked the egg, managing to somehow get the yolk into a glass, and the shell and white into the trash without making another mess on the linoleum. Right, now tomato juice, a dash of tobasco, some salt and pepper. It was supposed to get a lemon wedge, as well, but what can I say, a busy auror doesn't always have time to hit the grocery store every time she was low on citrus, so the wedge wouldn't be possible, but I'd always held that it was more there for a garnish anyway. 

I inhaled deeply, holding the breath as I downed the odd concoction before my, and only letting it out once the initial urge to gag had passed.

Nasty business, that. But absolutely necessary. I'd learned the hangover cure from Bill, Ron's older brother, and it had never failed me.

Already, I could feel the fuzz beginning to clear from my vision, and hear the quiddich captain telling his errant team members to pack up and go home, practice inside Hermione Granger's cranium was over.

Now that I was able to think clearly again, I wondered why I'd set my alarm to go off early. It's not like I had to work today. . . work. . . today. . . 

"Oh, bollocks." Suddenly wanted the searing pain of head trauma over the memory of what, indeed, I had gotten myself out of bed far too early for.

With a sound that was half grumble, half whine, I made my way down the hall and into the bathroom for a shower, before I headed to Diagon Alley. 

If today was the first day of the rest of my life, I was tempted to commit suicide now, and end the vicious circle.

*

*

*

"Hello?" 

28 Bluderbus ln, from the outside, was a small, single story brown-brick building with Naga Hiss, attorney at law on one side, and Murray Splint, M.W. on the other. Basically just like 90 other buildings of similar description that resided in the professional district of the bustling market that was the center for wizard trade, Diagon alley. 

Who could guess, by the well trimmed poplars on the sidewalk out front, and the charming Ivy that crawled over the face of the building, and twined itself around the wrought iron sign that read "Malfoy Temporary Services" that it was in such utter chaos behind its door?

I was standing in a doorway, with the door still ajar, and a breeze coming in behind me, and surveying dimly lit room with a small amount of shock. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the tiny waiting area consisting of a beat up leather sofa, which was cracked in some places, sun bleached in others, and both in others still., and the two desks which faced the door from the other side of the room, one of which was piled so high with papers, I couldn't see if there was anyone sititng in it, and the other completely empty, save only the barest necessities in office supplies, wasn't it. 

"Come in, come in," came a slightly annoyed, voice from behind one of the stacks, "and for chrissake, close the bloody door, I've just finished organizing them, and the last thing I need is to have these request forms scattered to the four corners of the earth."

"Pardon me," I replied, slightly embarrassed, and stepped all the way in, letting the door slam shut behind me. No turning back now.

Not that there had ever been any turning back.

"Pardon me," I repeated, "but are you Tracey Higgins?"

A sandy head peered out at me from behind the paper citadel he'd built. Tracy Higgins, from what I could see, was a moderately attractive man, with a straight, even nose, and dancing hazel eyes. Not as attractive as Magnus, of course, and I found myself wanting to shoot my own leg off. I was not going to think about Magnus.

"Hermione Granger, right?" he inquired, with a raise eyebrow. 

I confirmed this with a nod, and he gave me a sympathetic look even as he was reaching to catch a stack of wobbly papers, and I found this morning's nausea had returned. Getting a sympathetic look from a man who is officially drowning in paperwork was a decidedly good sign that you're about to begin a really lousy day. 

"That's right." I replied, as evenly as I could with the sense of impending doom creeping up on me. 

He nodded, "yes… the boss called about you yesterday. . . said he was sending you down and I should give you a very. . . er. . . special assingment."

Special assignment? This did not sound good. "What is it?" I asked, anxiously and it came out as a snap, "what's my assignment?"

"Um. . . It's just. . . " He was fidgeted, and seemed to be debating something before he could spit it out. Perhaps he was trying to find a way to put it to me delicately. Finally, he threw his hands up, nearly knocking he papers to the floor, and obviously deciding there was no good way to put this. "Oh, hell. Okay, here's the deal, this comes straight down form the top. . . technically, you work for me, but I work for him, so . . . look, I'm just really sorry."

I was growling, "Get on with it," I spit out, but I really had no desire to find out what our "illustrious leader" had planned for me.

"Sapphire Stables, it's a Malfoy holding. . . they put in a request last week for a stable hand.

Shoveling shit all week. . . I may as well have agreed to Malfoy's assistant

*

*

*

I threw the pitch fork, its prongs sticking easily into the dirt floor of the stables, and looked with a grim satisfaction down the row of 103 stalls that I had cleaned. Now I stood in front of stall 104, the last one, and my back was aching, and I was covered in sweat and manure, and pieces of hay. I wanted nothing more than to finish this last stall and apparate directly into my shower, where I would scrub until the scent of . . . _horse_ was out of my hair. The clothes I was wearing were going to have to be incinerated, of course, and I paused a moment to mourn the passing of my peach silk blouse, and gray trousers as a flash of white hot anger rose up in the back of my throat. Only Draco Git Malfoy would have an ex-Hogwarts Head Girl mucking out stalls. 

I could be doing so much better.

Okay, so perhaps it was a bit arrogant of me, but come on! Two weeks ago, before Malfoy's ill fated letter, I was swimming in opportunities, and now. . . 

With a grunt, I hefted my pitchfork, and entered the last stall, imagining Malfoy's slimy face with each stab into the floor of the stall. 

*

*

*

"I'm glad their done with the renovations," I said, wearily, as I slipped into a seat at our usual table in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, sliding in next to me, as Ron took the seat across from us.

"So, how was it, you wouldn't tell earlier?" Ron asked, leaning over the table.

"Yeah, 'Mione, spill!" Harry agreed, then added, "I can't believe you didn't tell me about this whole thing earlier." This last bit was more of a grumble, and I wondered if he felt left out of the loop.

I flashed him a smile, and patted his arm. "Sorry, Harry, I just thought you might be doing more important things."

Harry flushed at this, and started to sputter a reply, while Ron and I grinned at him like maniacs.

"Fair enough," he managed, after a moment, then cleared his throat, "I don't have any pressing engagements at the moment, however, aside from spending some much needed time with my best friends, so fill me in."

I proceeded to relate to him the events of the previous day, and watched the various shades of shock and indignation that played out on his face while Ron patted my hand reassuringly. 

"And today, I show up at 'Malfoy Temporary Services' and find out that he's got me cleaning out stables for the next week and a half, and after that, I'm filling in for a Dragon Keeper whose going on vacation. A bloody DRAGON KEEPER! I'm going to be burned to a crisp!"

Harry nodded, and gave me a pensive look. "Well," he said, "I can't say that I didn't see it coming. I had my suspicions when you told us that your job offers had slacked off, but I can't say I'd actually believed that even Malfoy would be so petty."

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, resting my head on the table, and only perking back up again when our first round was delivered to our table by a cute little witch who flirted shamelessly with Ron whenever we came here.

"Er, thanks," said the redhead, uncomfortably, as she handed him his drink, and allowed her hand to linger on his a little longer than was seemly, finally pulling away after meeting his eyes with a lusty look.

I may well have had my own problems to deal with, but that didn't mean I didn't have time to devote to my friends as well. As the waitress retreated, I gave Ron a sly smile, and nudged Harry with my elbow. "Ya see that?" I asked him.

He nodded, and echoed my grin. "I most certainly did! My, my, Ron, it appears that you have an admirer."

Ron turned a startling shade of scarlet. "Shut up!" he snapped, "I do not."

"Oh, come on, Ron, she was practically ready to jump in your lap," Harry said, his grin broadening. 

"You think so?" Ron, said, with a tinge of interest, and he cast a casual glance toward the girl.

"Absolutely! And you know what? You should go for it," I wrinkled my nose at him, "It's been an awfully long time since you've had a decent shag, after all."

Ron, if it was possible, turned even redder, and looked like he was ready to climb under the table and hide. This of course, caused Harry to snort in barely contained laughter, and I could only follow suit. After a moment, we were all laughing, like every time we all got together, and some how, my problems just seemed so much smaller. 

That's what friends were for

*

*

*

I was curled up on my couch, pointedly ignoring the cigarette burn as I turned the pages of my favorite translation of Dante's inferno, a residual smile from my get together with Harry and Ron playing across my lips. It was a good evening, and I was bound and determined not to ruin it by thinking of either of the annoying gits that had been ruining my life lately. I was getting drowsy, and content, and I could feel my eyelids slipping down despite my interest in the words I was reading.

It was at this moment, that I heard a tapping at my window. Warily, I left my seat, and approached the glass pane. A glance through it revealed strange bird, not an owl I'd ever seen. Actually, not an owl at all, but a fine, swift flying falcon. I pried the window up, and the raptor swooped in, circled the room, and came to land on my outstretched arm, digging it's talons into my skin, headless of the pain it caused. Only one wizard I knew would use a bird such as this as a messenger. Malfoy. 

My suspicions were confirmed when it dropped the piece of paper, folded and sealed with the Malfoy crest, it was holding in its beak into my hand, and gave a sharp cry. 

"Perhaps you could perch elsewhere?" I asked, "it's difficult to break this seal with one hand.:

The bird instantly launched itself from me arm, and settled on the back of the couch. I tried not to wince as it's talons tore the fabric, I was going to buy a new one soon, after all.

With a sigh, I threw myself back down into the cushions, ignoring the piercing eyes that read over my shoulder.

Granger,

I must admit, I'm more than a little curious how your fist day on the job went. I trust you are happy with the assignment you've been given, I thought it was a stroke of genius, myself. Imagine, me with Hermione Granger at the mercy of my whims. The idea has it's appeal. Feel free to send a reply back with Omen.

Oh, I'm going to have fun with you, Granger.

D. L. M.

"Omen?" I said, and, and the falcon flapped it's wings, "that must be you," I said to it. "You really are a magnificent animal," I told it, and it seemed to puff with pride. It was quite beautiful, but there was a reason most messenger birds were owls. Raptors were notoriously hard to control.

I sighed, so much for not thinking about annoying gits tonight. I ripped a small piece of paper from Malfoy's letter, and placed it in Omen's waiting beak, after scribbling my two word reply. Sod off. 

"Scratch his eyes out for me, eh?" I asked, as Omen took to the air. 

Despite the fact that it was physically impossible, I got the distinct impression that the beast was smirking at that.

*

*

*

Ah. . . now off to read Order of the Phoenix. Any mistakes in this chapter I attribute to sleep deprivation, I was up until 4:45 writing the bulk of this, and even though I went back over it before posting, it is inevitable that I missed some things. If anyone actually reads this, It would be a great help if you pointed these out to me, so I can correct them. Also, feel free to give any other feedback. . . or insane amounts of praise. . . whatever.

Thanks for reading, 

ARBITRARY


	5. sweet talk

"Rotten little ferret. . ." *stab* "stupid rat-faced git. . . " *stab* "utter prat . . ." *stab* "slimy lowlife son-of-a-bitch. . . " *stab* "shameless, philandering— oh, drat!"

The handle of the pitchfork with which I had been punctuating my, ahem, terms of endearment for my beloved boss, snapped in half as a particularly heartfelt name was accompanied by and equally violent thrust which resulted in the meeting of one of the fork's metal prongs with an unfortunately placed rock. The impact, aside from rendering my tool useless, sent a painful jolt up the handle a moment before causing it to snap. This jolt traveled up thorough my arms and set my teeth vibrating.

"Oh, for the love of…" I allowed my voice to trail off into mumbling, as I brought down a thousand curses upon the name 'Malfoy.' Great. Just great. Now I'd have to mend this before I could finish cleaning the stable, and I was already behind. With one half of the now useless handle in either hand, I sighed, and bent, laying the two pieces on the ground, splintered ends touching.

"_Aubrius Repairo_," I said, with a flick of my wand, then watched with some satisfaction as the frayed ends began to twist and writhe, knitting themselves neatly back together. The process now complete, I slipped my wand back into the rear pocket of my jeans, and bent again, taking the mended wood into my hands, and examining what remained of the fracture. 

The tell tale ring of new wood on an otherwise weathered handle was the only sign of break that I could see, and I was just about to continue swinging it, when the sound of clapping cut me short.

Slow and steady. Clap. Pause. Clap. Pause. Clap. Applause delivered in such a manner as to be mocking instead of congratulatory. 

If there was any doubt in my mind as to whom these offending hands belonged, it was laid to rest the moment I heard the intruder speak.

"Impressive, Granger," came the smooth, and infuriatingly amused tones of the man I'd come to know and despise.

"What are you doing here?"

"I own this place, remember?"

"And what do you mean, _impressive_? That was hardly a complicated spell."

"Spell?" for a moment, he looked truly perplexed. The faker. "No, no, no, Granger, I was referring to the other magic words you were spouting. I knew you were intelligent, but I had no idea your vocabulary was so. . . extensive."

I could feel the whit hot flush of embarrassment spread across my cheeks, before I swallowed, took a deep breath, willing my skin to cool. "That was just the tip of the ice burg, Malfoy. I could go on insulting you for hours, and never run out of words. The real problem is that I've never come across one that quite describes you."

"Obviously not for lack of trying," he muttered darkly.

I continued on, as if he hadn't spoken, "immature, bratty, stupid, worthless and arrogant are all good, but, somehow, they don't quite seem adequate, although, prat _does_ seem to come close."

Malfoy actually began to grin. It was becoming his habit, I insult, he grins, like my words don't even matter. Or more like he derives some sort of sick pleasure from these meetings. Yes, that was very like Malfoy. 

Or maybe he just did it to irritate me.

"I'd say, Granger," he drawled lazily, " that I'm far from stupid, and as far as worthless goes," he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, to indicate the building we were in (a stable, yes, but opulent none the less), in a manner that screamed " 'nuff said." "I can hardly deny that I'm immature and bratty, but I'd like to think that's a guy thing. And as for the arrogance, I'd say I've got the right."

"And I'd say you're abusing it."

"And I'd say you're on thin ice, Miss Granger. Remember who writes the paychecks."

How could I forget?

My brain seemed to be functioning on two separate wave-lengths, because I certainly hadn't meant to say "you won't fire me, Malfoy."

"oh, really, and why, pray tell, is that , Miss Granger?"

Yeah, why was that exactly? I was horrified at what I was doing, but I was a little anxious to hear what I would come up with. "Because, you're having too much fun at my expense. Fire me, and that's all over."

And somehow, I was not surprised to hear him chuckle.

"Too true. . . very well, you're safe. For now." I thought he was going to go on, but as he opened his mouth, a high, melodic, _feminine_, voice cut through the air.

"Draco?" I recognized the voice instantly as Jean's, and smirked at the almost accusatory tone in her voice. "You've left me waiting," she pouted, rounding the corner, and coming into sight in the doorway at the far end of the stable. "Why is it taking so long to talk to that stable boy?"

Stable boy! I let the comment slide, since it meant that she was obviously too far away to recognize me, and for some reason, the last thing I wanted was to be recognized by her. Maybe it had something to do with the hay tangled in my hair, or the muck that coated the bottoms of my tennis shoes. 

"Sorry, Love, I'll be right there." Malfoy called over his shoulder, then turned back to me.

" 'Sorry, Love'" I mocked. "Boy, does she have you whipped."

"Whipped! I'll show you. . ."

"Draco, come on. . ."

"Oh, never mind. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—" 

"Draco. . . the hippogriff lessons. . . you promised."

I treated him to an amusedly raised eyebrow. "Hippogriff lessons, Malfoy, are you sure you're qualified?"

"Come on, Granger, I have matured _somewhat_ since third year."

"My ass."

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'have a nice ride.'" But I don't think he bought it.

*

*

*

The rest of the day went more quickly, and I'm not sure if this was despite, or because of Malfoy's appearance. I worked harder, now that my arms had been leant the strength of rage, but I also had to mend more pitchforks, so I figured it was an almost even trade. 

Malfoy didn't show his ugly, twisted, loathsome little face for the rest of the day, and I figured Jean had kept him busy. Oddly enough, I was almost, I don't know, disappointed (?) that he didn't return to finish the exchange we'd had. I had to admit, I was curious as to what had prompted him to seek my company in the first place. 

Oh, yeah, the whole gloating over my situation thing, that was definitely one of his reasons, but there was also something else he was getting at. 

I wondered if it had anything to do with the last letter I'd sent him. 

I pondered all this as I finished putting away my bucket and pitchfork, and shook the hay from my hair. It had been five days since I'd sent the reply, and this was the first I'd seen of him. One would assume that he'd just let it go. I, however, had intimate first hand knowledge with what happens when Malfoy receives an unflattering letter. I was starting to sweat. 

This was getting out of hand. I refused to let Malfoy make me paranoid.

I slammed the supply closet, causing the pegusi to stamp in agitation, and the hippogriffs to snap their beaks. 

"Sorry," I muttered, and made my way out of the stable, taking care to move much more quietly. 

I was passing the aviary when I heard it, an enraged inhuman scream, followed by a scream that was anything but inhuman. I spun on my heel, and dashed toward the aviary door, where I could see a light was burning brightly.

I threw the door wide, to see a woman collapsed on the floor, looking for all the world like a pile of loose limbs and rags, while an irate roc stood before her, one leg holding his weight, while the other reached toward the lump of humanity with razor sharp talons. 

I had my wand out in a second, and sent a spell toward the creature. "_Stupefy_!" I shouted, and the great bird stopped, and swayed. Dazed, obviously, but not unconscious. "_Eruptio Flamma!_" I tried, instead, and a burst of flame shot from my wand, singing the tail feathers of the giant bird that had decided at just the right moment that it was time he took flight. 

With another angry scream, he lit upon an empty perch alongside several other rocs, and cast me a glare before fluffing up his feathers in indignation, and going back to sleep.

I turned my attention now to the crumpled figure on the floor. She was starting to move, and she moaned in pain as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. 

Drusilla Drowd. Drowsy to all of the employees here. She was the Head Trainer, and though I'd only met her once, on my first day, when she'd assigned me to clean the equine stable, I had heard enough about her to know that she was no more qualified for the position of Head Trainer than I was. Indeed, I'd say seven years with Hagrid made me more qualified. 

"What, in God's name, were you doing here?" I don't know much about roc's, but I do know that, while one could never call them docile, properly trained, they were quite easy to handle. What had she been doing to enrage one so?

"I, er. . . hey, aren't you that new temp?"

"Yeah, that doesn't exactly answer my question."

She pushed herself up onto her knees, and slowly started to rise, "I don't have to explain anything to you, this is _my_ stable."

"Actually, this is _Malfoy's_ stable, and _I_ just. . ." I caught a glint of light on metal, and my eyes were drawn to a set of large clippers imbedded in the dirt on the opposite side of the building. My eyes flashed to hers, widening, "you were trying to clip his wings, weren't you?" 

"It makes them easier to handle while they're learning to take the saddle."

"Yeah, I can see that." 

She had the decency to look embarrassed. 

"You aren't even a trainer here."

"Apparently you aren't much of one either."

*

*

*

It was late when I got home. I'd helped Drowsy bandage herself up, and poured her a glass of scotch back in her office, to calm her nerves. I'd taken the bottle home with me, and it wasn't until I was stretched full out in a tub of scalding hot water, that the full force of what had happened hit me. 

I took a nice, long swig of scotch, and sank back into the water.

Drusilla Drowd had almost died tonight.

My nerves were shot, and I nearly jumped out of my skin as I heard a tapping on my bathroom window. A glance through the fogged pane showed a glorious falcon. I wrapped myself up in a towel, somehow unwilling to receive Omen in my present state of undress, then opened the window to let him in.

This time, he didn't stick around for a reply, just dropped off his letter, circled the room, and dove straight back out the window. 

_Granger,_

You obviously have trouble with civil replies on paper, perhaps I'd have better luck in person?

I'll be at Jack Vance's in an hour. I trust you will be along shortly, I'm really most anxious to find out how you're adjusting to life here at Malfoy int. 

One hour.

D. L. Malfoy

I could have shrieked in fury. I could have wailed at the injustice. I could have railed to the heavens about the twisted cruel fate that had befallen me. It didn't really matter, what I couldn't do was stand up Malfoy, and so with nothing more than an annoyed snort, I dressed myself and headed out the front door.

*

*

*

Jack Vance's was a sort of upscale dive, where business men, ministry officials, and various other members of the ruling class went to pretend that they were slumming. Jack Vance's sold two galleon martinis. Nobody who drinks two galleon martini's is really slumming.

I made my way through the bar, practically empty on a Tuesday night, to a corner table, where I could see the dazzlingly white-blonde head of Draco Malfoy. He nodded to me as I approached, and sipped at a Firewhisky that had been served him on the rocks. I didn't see Omen anywhere. 

"Have a seat, Granger," he said, indicating the empty chair across from him.

I sat down obligingly. 

"You don't seem at all pleased to see me, Granger."

"Every moment spent with you is one too many," I quipped, leaning back in my seat. 

"I couldn't agree more,"

"Then why did you arrange this little meeting?" I felt my pulse quicken, and a slight thrill traveled the length and breadth of my body. It was the 'fight or flight' instinct kicking in like it always did in these verbal sparring matches.

"I didn't get much of a chance to talk with you today Granger," he began.

"That's right, you were called away. . . Tell me, who's in charge of whom in that little relationship you have?"

"Jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous of her?"

"She has your job, for one."

"A job I turned down, if you'll remember, and in order to get it, she probably had to perform too many acts of perversity to count. I just have to clean up manure. I'd say it was a fair trade."

"Ah, yes, just what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Manure?"

"In a manner of speaking. What do you think of Sapphire Stables?"

"I think it's being run into the ground. It's no wonder the place has been loosing money like a sailor on shore leave in Atlantic City."

"Is that so?" He raised a defensive eyebrow.

"I'm not talking about you, you egomaniac. I'm talking about that Head Trainer of yours, you know she almost got herself killed tonight!"

He grinned like the Cheshire cat, "do tell."

*

*

*

It was another hour before I was at home again, slipping out of my tennis shoes, and into a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers, before heading into the kitchen. There was a stack of mail on the table, but I'd firmly resolved to ignore it until I had my hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. 

To this end, I placed the kettle the heated coils, and stood over it with my bag of Earl Grey, ready to pounce the moment it began to whistle. I was soon rewarded, and before long, I was sitting on a chair at the table, my bunny slippers on the edge of the seat, and my knees drawn up to my chest, as I cradled my cup in one hand, and went through my mail with the other. 

Bill, bill, junk mail, yet another reminder to renew my subscription to Witch Weekly, letter from Harry, letter from Ron, letter from my folks, and a concert poster from Nine Inch Wands, who had apparently liked the agent that I'd suggested to them, and wished me to see them live. 

I opened Harry's letter first, a warning that he had yet to hear from me about a birthday present, and a reminder about the Brown/Baddock wedding later on that month. Somehow, seeing Harry wanting to get a jump on things just didn't seem natural. 

Ron's letter also berated me for going incommunicado on my birthday present (lighten up guys, you still have a month) and informed us that he was going to be late this Thursday, as he was seeing a movie in the early evening with a certain waitress (that's the spirit, Ron) but that we should just wait for him, as he would be along shortly thereafter. 

The letter from my folks was more of my mother, asking after my health, and wanting to know when she was going to get to meet this incredibly dashing Magnus character that she'd been hearing so much about. 

Perhaps it was time to tell her I'd broke it off. 

*

*

*

Alright, another chapter up. . . still working on the revision that Random Minion suggested (thanks, by the way) but hopefully the Malfoy/Granger scenes in this chapter flow a little better. 

Comments and constructive criticism always welcome.


	6. it wasn't a date

"He did what?!" This incredulous ejaculation was issued from Ron, and he nearly spilled his drink with his vehemence. 

Harry, on the other hand, dug his ear with a pinky, then cupped the hand to it. "Eh?" he asked, sounding for all the world like an old man with age induced hearing impairment.

"Oh, honestly, you two, it was just a few drinks. It's not like he drugged me."

Ron muttered a dark "I'm not convinced of that," while Harry said slightly louder, "but still. . . drinks. . . with Malfoy. . ."

"That's right, Harry, drinks, with Malfoy."

"Well," sniffed Ron, "you're certainly acting nonchalant about this whole thing."

"About what 'whole thing?'"

"I mean," he explained, "you did just tell us you went on a date with Malfoy."

I felt it absolutely necessary to redecorate the table with the drink on which I had been sipping, "I did no such thing," I sputtered.

"Well, you _did_ say you met up with him, and he bought you a few drinks."

"I said he sent for me, and we discussed business."

"Over drinks!" Ron stated triumphantly.

"It was business!"

"Business my a--"

"Speaking of dates," Harry cut in, and note of mild desperation in his voice, 

"It was _not_ a date!" I interjected.

"How was the movie, Ron?" Harry continued, as though I hadn't spoken.

Ron, who'd opened his mouth to respond to my outburst, blinked twice, mouth still agape, seemingly startled by the sudden shift of attention to himself. "It was good," he responded, after a moment, then in the same breath he turned to me, and asked, "fine, if it wasn't a date, then what did you two talk about?"

Harry threw up his hands in defeat. "I give up!"

"I already told you, it was business."

"But, I thought he had you cleaning stables?"

"He does, the great prat!" I took a moment to ruminate on what a prat Malfoy really was, before I continued. "The whole thing was really, I dunno, odd. I mean, he wanted to lord it over me. . .my job and all, and how bloody 'all powerful' he is and pretty much just be the rotten little git we all know and . . . well, hate, but it was something else, too."

"Yeah," Ron said with a grin that let me know he was just teasing now, "he was trying to get into your knickers."

"It wasn't a date," Harry said, so I didn't have to, and I gave him a grateful pat on the hand, and Ron a death glare.

"At least someone believes me."

"Fine, fine," Ron relented at last, "back to this 'not-a-date' thing."

"Right, well, he was pretty subtle about it, I mean, for the most part, hiding behind teasing and jeers, but he was definitely probing me—not one word, Ron!—for information."

"Ron? Hey. . . Ron! Are you okay?" Harry asked nervously. Ron, for his part, looked like he was going to have a seizure right there in his chair from the effort it took to hold his tongue. 

"Fine. . . just fine," he replied, but he looked and sounded like he'd taken a Fizzing Whizbee down the wrong pipe.

"Are you going to be alright?" I asked with concern.

"Well, jeeze, woman, you really need to work on your word choice," he spat out, his features finally settling back into their usual grin.

"He _does_ have a point there," Harry said with a nod.

"Just whose side are you on, Harry Potter?"

"Jus' sayin'" he mumbled. 

"Anyway," I cast a pointed glance at each in turn, and took their avoidance as a sign that it was safe to continue without interruption. "Sapphire Stables is one of the only Malfoy holdings that's loosing money. When they acquired the company, nearly twelve years ago, it was one of the heavy hitters when it came to breeding and training racing pegusi, and hippogriffs. Now you're lucky to find a Sapphire finishing in the top five. No prize money, and no one wants stud services from a fifth place looser."

"Are we talking Malfoy, or the pegusi?"

"Hardy-har, Ron," I intoned, humorlessly.

"So, what's any of this got to do with you?" Harry asked, "you're just a temp."

"Nothing, really. . . at least not as far as I can tell. . . except. . . I don' t know, I sort of got the impression that he wanted my opinion."

"Which is?"

"Well, I believe I already owled you two about finding Ms. Drowd in the process of being mauled by a Roc, right?"

The two nodded.

"What do _you_ think my opinion is?"

"But why would he even _want_ your opinion, 'Mione?" Ron asked, "I mean, you're brilliant and all, but, well, doesn't Malfoy _hate_ you?"

"And here I thought he wanted to buy me drinks and look up my skirt."

"We're not ruling that out entirely," Harry said with a smile, and Ron snorted in return. Cue table-wide laughter, and general good times.

After the hilarity died down, we decided, (well, actually, I demanded, and Harry hexed Ron until he agreed,) to drop the issue of my conversation with Malfoy, and Harry and I began grilling Ron about his date in earnest. 

It had gone well, apparently. So well in fact, that he was meeting Paige (I didn't know she was named Paige) again on Saturday to watch the Cannons play the Sloughs. Ron was sure that victory was within reach this time. I, for my part, was positive the Sloughs would win, but was a little concerned about whether or not they'd make the 300 point spread. 

Of course, I didn't have the heart to tell Ron I'd bet against his favorite team. 

Eventually the subject of my birthday was brought up, once again, but only so the boys could tell me I needn't worry, as they'd found the perfect gift for me. I hardly slept a wink that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw myself drowning in an ocean of Witch Weeklys, all bedecked with Malfoy's smirking face, and taglines like "Worst Boss in Britain," "World's Biggest Prat," "Pointiest Chin in Europe," and "Malfoy, the man, and the Wanker," with Harry and Ron in the background somewhere singing 'Happy Birthday to You.'

*

*

*

Something was up. I could tell it the moment I apparated in to Sapphire Stables the next morning. Usually, the whole place was abuzz with activity this early in the morning. Trainers and stable hands leading young Pegusi fillies and colts to the training oval to warm up while hippogriffs were learning to take the saddle, and far overhead, the shrill screams of giant birds could be heard drifting down to earth as Roc riders urged their steeds to greater and greater heights. Today, however, all I heard was the faint whicker of Pegasi in their stables, the smacking of heels on wood where other stable hands were perched on fences, and the hushed whispers of huddled trainers. Judging by the nervous glances that were being sent my direction, it wasn't too hard to guess that it had something to do with me, which meant one of two things. Either, a) the story about Drowsy and the Roc had broken, or b) the effects of my talk with Malfoy had finally taken place. 

I seriously doubted Drowsy would go around bragging about her incompetence.

Great, just great. . . that stupid prat _would_ go and make things all uncomfortable for me with only another three days left here. Couldn't just wait till I was out of the picture, could he? 

I sighed in anger as I made my way to the equine stables, silence ahead of me, and whispers following in my wake. 

I was shocked when I entered the stables and saw Drowsy standing with her back to me. I hadn't seen her since the night of the roc attack. . . the night I'd spoken with Malfoy. . . and frankly, I was stunned to see her here now. 

She turned to me, and by the look on her face, she wasn't happy to see me at all.

"Well, look who it is. . . been wondering when you'd show up. . . wondering if you had the guts to show up at all." She bit out, "Miss Granger, your services here are no longer required." 

"My. . . what?"

"Another stable hand has been located to take up the position permanently, thanks to you" she said, with bitterness, then she approached me. I reflexively reached for my wand, and blushed when she only held out a roll of parchment to me.

"The Boss," she sneered this out, "told me to give this to you"

"Oh," I managed, and took the parchment from her. This whole thing was bloody awkward. "Listen, I'm—"

"What?" she asked, "you're what? Sorry? I don't think so, Miss Granger, you've gotten me demoted, you meddling little bitch! That's what you are. . . Malfoy's watchdog. Run on back to your master now."

There was only one other person who had ever looked at me with the hatred that was reflected in her eyes. He signs my paychecks.

*

*

*

Granger, 

My office. 12:30. Don't be late.

D. L. Malfoy

Well, I supposed, this would certainly make it easier to wring the life from him for putting me in the middle of the whole Sapphire Stables fiasco.

*

*

*

It was the same receptionist, I noticed with some dismay, who'd been manning the front desk the first time I'd stormed the Malfoy citadel. She recognized me as well, apparently, since her eyes went first wide with surprise, then narrowed in suspicion as I approached the desk. We didn't, I think, get off on the right foot the last time. Imagine that. 

"Good afternoon. . ." I glanced at the plaque on her desk "Darla."

She gave me a snort, which, for the sake of improving employee relationships, I ignored.

"'Afternoon," she returned tightly.

"Erg. . . hey, listen, about last time. . ."

"Name?" she asked, ignoring my attempts at explanation.

"Oh, yes, well, it's Granger, Hermione Granger." She made a notation. "Anyway, I just wanted to appolog—" 

"Business?" she cut in.

I was beginning to get annoyed. How was I supposed to apologize, when she kept cutting me off?

"I have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy."

She regarded me with a cocked eyebrow, "is he expecting you?"

"Yes, actually," I returned, with an indignant sniff, "you can check, if you like."

She did, pulling out a clipboard, and going over it. "Granger. . . Granger. . ." she mumbled to her self, "ah, yes, here it is. Hermione Granger, 12:30." She looked up, with a bright smile, all seemingly forgiven now that I was using proper channels. "a bit early, aren't you? It's only a quarter after."

"Yes, well, I like to be prompt." 

Darla nodded in apparent approval, and I decided to press my issue. "So. . . may I go up now?"

Darla actually blushed at this, "Oh, no! absolutely not! Mr. Malfoy is, um, in a meeting, and isn't to be disturbed, but you can feel free to wait down here." She gestured to a corner, where three comfy-looking chairs, and one sofa had been placed around a coffee table. "We have magazines. . . do you read Witch Weekly?"

*

*

* 

I declined the offer of Witch Weeklys as graciously as I could, and opted instead to spend the next thirteen minutes perusing the file I'd put together on Ridgeback Ranch, where I would be doing my next tour of service. I was beginning to wonder if I was doomed to spend the rest of my days working with livestock. Then I came across the incident reports for the last year, and my focus switched to wondering exactly how long 'the rest of my days' was likely to last. 

Not long, by the look of things.

108 casualties in the last year alone. That was 45 broken ribs, 16 dislocated shoulders, fourteen broken ankles, twelve broken legs, nine broken ribs, six slipped disks, four concussions, two eaten digits, and one broken jaw (though even I had to admit the incident that resulted in the broken jaw was just sheer stupidity on the part of the Dragon Keeper.) 

"And a partridge in a pear tree," I added tonelessly. At least there were no fatalities. 

"What was that?" Darla called out from behind her desk.

"Oh, nothing. . . hey, is it time for me to head up yet?"

"12:28. . . I suppose it'll take you at least two minutes to get there. Alright, head on up."

With a relieved sigh (I was_ really_ tired of reading about Dragon Keeping injuries) I shrunk my folder, (_deflato!_) and shoved it into my back pocket. I made a mental note to give Charlie Weasley a ring, and see if he had any tips for me. You know, something that would keep me alive and intact.

"Public lift's on the left," Darla called out to me, and I flashed her a sly smile as I hit the up button, and disappeared into the velvet lined confines. 

It was slower going this time, as the lift kept stopping to pick up, and drop off other passengers. I knew that I was almost there, however, when I found myself alone once again.

Sure enough, at the next stop, the doors slid open to reveal Malfoy's outer office, where his assistant was sitting at her desk.

"Hello, Miss, what's your business here?" 

I was tired of being asked that question, so I just ignored it, and brushed past the raven-haired witch. I also ignored her cries of "hey," and "you can't go in there!" I fact, my hand was already on the M that split down the middle to form the handles on the double doors that lead to Malfoy's inner office, and turning one half before one very interesting fact registered. 

5. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . . 1. . . !

Raven. Haired. Witch.

I took three very large steps backward until I was even with the desk, and gaped at the girl sitting behind it. She was short and curvaceous, so much so, that I truly wondered how she remained upright.

"I. . . Who. . . What?"

"Ah, Granger, you're late." Malfoy's smooth tones assaulted my ears, and I turned to give him a sharp look.

"Well, if you hadn't been in a _meeting_, your receptionist would have sent me up twenty minutes ago."

"I see you've met Kiki."

"New assistant? Do you change them like socks?" I felt the adrenaline begin to pump into my veins, and an electric thrill that was becoming steadily familiar. I was about to lay into Malfoy.

"Perhaps," he said, his gaze slipping from mine, to his new assistant, and back again pointedly, "we should continue this in my office?"

I followed him in, and slammed the door with a fury that would have knocked every book off the shelf if they hadn't been magiked to resist such shocks.

"Well, what happened to Jean, did you get bored?" I shot out instantly.

"I didn't ask you here to discuss my choice in my assistants."

"I think your choice in assistants is pretty obvious, you lecherous, you perverted. . ."

"I didn't want to discuss _that_ either."

"Well, then you shouldn't have scheduled my meeting to conflict with your shag-time."

He chuckled, "awfully blunt, aren't you?"

"Awfully vile, aren't _you_," I returned.

"Mmm. . . Well, I try."

"What _did_ happen to Jean?"

"My god, woman, you won't rest until I give you an answer, will you?"

I raised one eyebrow in reply.

"Fine," he said, resignedly "if you _must_ know. . .she got a little too clingy. Jean was terribly possessive. It was starting to interfere with her work"

"You've got to be kidding me, Jean actually did work?" I looked him up and down, "well, other than the obvious."

"Shut it, Granger." He said, with a touch of the old loathing creeping back in. It was sort of a comfort, it put some distance between us. Distance I felt was necessary to keep myself from throttling him for being such a pig.

"I asked you here," he continued, after a moment, "because I wanted to thank you, and to give you this," he swept his hand to indicate a box on his desk, and I regarded him with apprehension. "well, go on, it won't bite. . . It's just some protective gear. . . dragon hide. . . figured you wouldn't have any laying around, but you're certainly going to need it for your next assignment."

"Um," I wasn't sure what to say, except, "thank you."

"Don't mention it, Granger," he grinned, devilishly, "and I mean that. Now, I have to cut this short, I'm meeting with the head of my American operations I about," he glanced at his watch, "twelve minutes, and I need to go over my notes once more."

"In that case, Malfoy," I said, and reached up on instinct, pressing my fingers into his cheek, and wiping the corner of his mouth with my thumb, before pulling it away, and holding it in his shocked face to display the color my digit had picked up. "You might want to do something about this lipstick."

His gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, he just stared, too shocked to say anything. Hell, even I was shocked by my actions. I'd actually placed my hands on him. After a moment he shook his head, and cleared his throat, "yeah, I suppose I should."

I nodded, grabbed the box off his desk, and left. 

"Our boss," I told Darla on the way out, "is a real asshole."

I like to think I heard her snicker in response.

I might have paid more attention if my fingertips weren't still tingling

*

*

*

*

Ah!!! Well, this was the hardest chapter to write since the first Malfoy/Granger confrontation, and I have no doubts that I'll read this later, and feel the need to revise, but for now, I can't find any major faults. Hopefully you guys will be kind enough to help me out with that one.

So, we've had our first real 'moment' where to go from here. . . I'm thinking the next chapter will have Hermione in leather (well, dragonhide, but anyway) and an implied erotic dream. . . but no guarantees.

Oh, and thanks to chic… no, I hadn't hear of the exact conversions… If you could, I'd love to know where to find them… is two galleons a better quantity? I'm shooting for the ten dollar range.


	7. Practical Dragonkeeping

"Gee, Ron, that's just terrible," I told the face hovering in my fire.

"Terrible? Terrible! It was 450 to 80! 'Terrible,' she says… It was bloody disastrous! We didn't just lose, we were crushed.

450 to 80, eh… I made a mental note to call my bookie. 

"But surely the evening wasn't a total bust. You and Paige got on well, right?"

He blushed slightly, "er, I suppose you could say that. We, well. . . she was very consoling."

I flashed him an impish grin, and his blush deepened. I swear, he was so cute when he was all embarrassed and flushed. I could just see him toeing the ground, and staring at his feet, an 'aw, shucks,' look on his face. Well, I actually _could_ see the 'aw shucks' look. I was glad to see a male who could be embarrassed, a welcome change from a man who could bang his assistant while I sat in the waiting room, and not even have the decency to be ashamed of himself when I called him on it.

Malfoy. That bastard.

". . . so, anyway, you don't think that's moving too fast, do you?"

"Oh. Of course not, Ronny, It's not like the opportunity for a good shag presents itself to you every day."

"Have you been listening to me?"

"Yeah," of course I was paying attention. . . wasn't I. There was no way I was letting that stupid, egotistical, hedonistic, self-centered, spoiled. . . 

"'Mione?"

ugly, vile, wretched, bastard of a pureblood. . . 

"'Mione?'

good for nothing, pea brained, whiney prat, Malfoy distract me from. . . 

"Hermione!"

my friends.

"God, Ron, I'm so sorry, it's just. . . I've had an incredibly stressful month. I've been on my nerves end for weeks, and Malfoy's being an ass, and I'm being short tempered , and I start that whole _dragon keeper_ bit on Monday, and you should see the outfit he gave me. . . I haven't tried it on yet, but Ron, it's. . . " Ron was giving me a very puzzled look, and I stopped my tirade with a snort. "Oh, god, I sound like a neurotic, don't I?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but. . . "

"Forget it. So, what were you saying?"

He gave a chuckle, "I said I'm thinking of asking Paige to be my date for Lavender's wedding. What do you think?"

Oh no. 

"Sounds like a great idea, Ron. . . really." Date. Wedding. Holy shit. Hey, Ron, I think I have to go now. . . bye."

Lavender Brown's wedding was in three weeks. I hadn't even thought about it, but I'd be expected to bring a date. It was funny, really, this was the kind of thing that I should have brought Magnus to, that I _would_ have brought Magnus to, if I hadn't found out about his penchant for secretaries.

"Boy, he and Malfoy have a lot in common," I mumbled angrily. "They should get together and start a Lecher's Club, ass holes only."

Yeah, it certainly was funny. Except that it wasn't funny at all. Nope, not in the slightest. And there, sitting on my damaged couch, cigarette hole staring up at me like and empty eye, I felt my own eyes begin to fill. 

I'd been hurt. Magnus had hurt me. But I'd never really let myself just feel it. It was amazing that something so simple, like not having a date for a wedding could so accentuate the things that were missing in my life. I'd spent the last month feeling angry, instead, and now, I shed my first and my last tears for my golden haired angel. For the man who broke my heart.

*

*

*

Later, I pretended it never happened.

*

*

*

"you look ridiculous," I told my reflection, and it retaliated by sticking its tongue out at me. It did, though. . . I did. Monday morning, and it found me standing in front of my full length mirror, with my hair pulled back into a tight braid, and the rest of me decked out in the very finely made, very expensive, very, er, form-fitting protective black dragonhide gear Malfoy had given to me. 

My eyes trailed up my hands, which were sheathed in the supple gloves that were pulled up over my elbows, and stopped mid-way up my biceps. I slid my eyes over the exposed shoulder, allowing myself to indulge, for a moment, in the thought that I had very nice skin, if I did say so myself. I'd rather not put it on display, however, and glanced back up to my face to catch the disapproving frown on it, before continuing my appraisal. 

The bodice was a strapless number, and laced up the back. It would have been trouble if not for a quick flick of the wand. It was really little more than a glorified leather corset. . . okay, so it didn't have ribs, and I supposed it wasn't uncomfortably tight, but it wasn't exactly daily wear in my book. The really impressive thing about it, however, was the tool work, a snake, who's coiled tail wrapped around the right breast, across the back ,and curled its head onto the stomach, head pointed downward in a manner that was almost possessive. The pants were almost worse, they clung to every curve I had in a manner that was almost indecent, and another snake wrapped its way up my left leg. 

I shifted, as I put on the boots (also Malfoy provided, totally unpractical things that laced up to my knees, and sported spiked heels four inches tall) and the light slid over the smooth surface of the material, giving it a wet appearance. 

The look now complete I gave a groan. I mean, I knew Malfoy wasn't the brightest torch on the wall, but for the love of god, what _had _he been thinking?I looked like the star of one of those post-apocalyptic B-movies. The ones where humanity has been reduced to wandering the wastelands of what had once been northern Europe, but was now an endless desert, while fighting mutants created by. . . well, whatever cataclysm had caused the end of civilization. 

And the only thing more disturbing than the idea of leaving the house dressed as Kendra, Warrior Babe of the Outland was the realization that I'd certainly never allowed Malfoy to take my measurements for this outfit. I wondered how many women Malfoy had undressed with those skillful hands of his in order to be able to pull off that parlor trick.

That settled it. There was no way I'd be leaving the house like this.

Except. . . 

Malfoy was right, this was the only set of Dragonhide clothes I owned. I sighed at my reflection, "well, I suppose, I'll just have to make the best of it," I informed the mirror, and it was returned with a stoic nod. "alright then, spare boots I have," a flick of my wand, and the god-awful boots Malfoy had given me were replaced by much more sensible hiking boots, and after throwing a loose-fitting brown robe on over the rest of the rig, I was presentable.

I needed only one more thing. . . 

"directions," I said aloud, then apparated to Temporary Services, to get the address from Tracy Higgins.

*

*

*

I found Tracy Higgins looking much as he had the first time I'd seen him. Nothing but arms flailing out from behind stacks upon stacks of papers, though, I did notice the stacks seemed to be a good six inches taller than last time. 

"Yes," he was saying as I appeared, "I've got it right here, and believe me, I know how dire this is, but you still have to go through proper channels." He leaned out from behind his papers, phone to his ear, and acknowledged me with a nod before disappearing once again.

"Well _I_ certainly didn't see that form…"

I let him continue, and wiped a corner of the empty desk before perching myself upon it. Who, I wondered, sat here?

Finally the conversation drew to a close, and I could tell by the sound of Tracy's voice that he'd not come out on top of it. I heard the phone slam back into its cradle, which caused the whole leaning tower of paper on his desk to shudder dangerously.

He stood up behind his desk, and I noted the dark circles under his eyes, and the sallow complexion his skin had taken on. "Not sleeping well?" I inquired.

He seemed take aback by my personal inquiries, and blinked twice before answering, "well, no, actually, I've been doing a lot of work at home, and it's been a little hectic lately, what with. . . well, it really doesn't matter," he looked me over, and I saw the spark of recognition in his eyes, "Granger, was it?"

I nodded in response, and he gave a shudder, "oh, boy, suddenly my problems don't look so bad. . . you're to start the Ridgeback Ranch gig today, aren't you?"

"Yes, actually, that's why I'm here. I just stopped in to get directions. . . I just hate doing blind apparations when it's unnecessary."

"Okay, then. . . Ridgeback. . . that's just outside Leatherwing, a small wizarding town in the South of Wales. Best to floo in, there's a bar, the Dirty Witch, right at the edge of town. . . Feel free to use the fireplace, but I've got to get back to work."

"No problem, and thanks."

He might have muttered 'poor girl' from behind his papers, but I ignored it, instead I went to the fireplace, and took a handful of floo power from the mantle. "the Dirty Witch!" I said clearly, and stepped into the flames.

*

*

*

The Dirty Witch was as busy as any bar could expect to be a 8:30 am on a Monday. Better than some, I suspected. There were two men sitting on opposite sides of a circular table, with their warm, flat beers sitting beside their fallen heads, as they alternately discussed Nietzsche, and lamented the fall in the popularity of the 'bendy straw.'

"That which does not kill us, makes us stronger," one said as I passed. 

"Yeah," replied the other, as I headed toward the bar, "but if we had those straws, I wouldn't have to raise my head so far to drink my beer."

"So, what you're saying is, it's not a lack of beer, but a lack of straws that makes unhappy drunks?"

I shook my head, and approached the bar, where the only other customer sat, fine material of his hooded cloak pulled down low over his head, and falling across his shoulders. 

The bartender, a youngish, though tired looking, woman, gave me a smile.

"Ah, you're a new face," she said, brightly, "You'd be the new Ridgeback temp, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't if I had a say in the matter, unfortunately, my boss is a high-handed, prat of a man." The cloaked figure choked on his drink, "so, yes, I'm the new temp."

I wrinkled my brow, "how'd you know?"

"Ah, well, Cletis said you might be stopping by."

"Cletis?"

"Why yes, he's the Senior Keeper."

Senior keeper? Oh god, not another Sapphire Stables situation. "Is he competent?" I asked. Oh please, oh please, oh please.

The bartender gave a snort. "Is he competent? Cletis has been working with dragons for 25 years, do you think he could have lasted that long if he wasn't?"

I breathed out a sight of relief. Not another Sapphire Stables after all. Then I suddenly felt my stomach tighten. 'do you think he could have lasted that long if he wasn't competent?' Oh god. I was bright, intelligent, witty, capable… there were so many things I could do, but I realized that at this job, I was definitely _not_ competent.

The bartender must have seen my terror, because she gave me a kindhearted chuckle. "It's alright, Dearie, they won't let you get in over your head. You're going to be just fine."

Oddly enough, that helped, I flashed her a grateful smile, and headed to the door. I paused at the threshold, and turned to look over my shoulder, "Um, do I go right, or left?"

"Right."

"Thanks. . . I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"It's Regina, Gina, if you like."

"I'd like that very much, I'm Hermione, by the way," and with that I opened the door, and stepped into the morning light. 

*

*

*

Cletis was a big man, 6'4" at least. Easily as tall as Magnus with a few extra inches to boot. Not just tall, though, the man was broad as well, in a brick wall kind of way. I wouldn't have been surprised to find out he weighed in excess of 300 pounds. And not an ounce of it was fat. He walked in a sort of lumbering swagger that belied his speed, and reminded me of nothing more than a grizzly bear.

He would have been very intimidating, were it not for the easy smile with which he greeted me, and the hand he automatically extended.

"Howdy, ma'am."

His accent was Southwest American, and seemed to speak in a language of canyons and ravines. Of sparse country and green pastures. I could picture him roping steer, and driving a herd. If he could find a horse that would carry him, that is. 

Maybe that's why he took to dragonkeeping.

"Howdy, er, hi there. Cletis, is it?"

He nodded, and tipped his hat. "That'd be me, ma'am. I'm the Senior Keeper here. . . You must be Miss Granger, that right?"

"Yes, I'm sure you're aware of the duties I am to perform here."

"Now ma'am, I wouldn't be much of a Senior Keeper if I didn't, now would I?"

"I suppose not. . . do you also know about my, er. . . "

"Lack of experience?" He asked, and I gave a sheepish grin by way of response, "'course I do. What I can't figure, is why that boss of ours wants to send a green little girl down here."

Little girl! Grizzly or not, I wasn't going to let this man call me a child just because I'd never been gnawed on by a dragon. 

"Excuse me, who are you calling a little girl!"

"Simmer down, now, missy," he said with a chuckle, "boy, you got some spirit, don't ya? But listen, I've been keepin' these animals since before you were born, by the look of you, and that makes you a little girl to me. I'm sure you know this is a dangerous job, and I just don't think it's right that you come out here without trainin'."

"You and me both," I muttered. Maybe Malfoy was really trying to kill me.

"No matter, what's done is done. . . so, you're what, about 22, 23?"

"I'll be 24 next month."

"And a fine English girl like yerself would have gone to Hogwarts, so you would have take 'Care of Magical Creatures' under Rubeus Hargid, is that right?"

"Why, yes, how'd you. . ."

"Like I said, I wouldn't be much of a Senior Keeper if I didn't. . . Rubeus, huh? Well, it's a good start. I'll pair you up with one of the other keepers for today, just to get the basics, and tomorrow, we'll put you on hatchlings, and maybe you can do the evening feedings. . . we'll give all the real dangerous stuff to the more experienced keepers. I'm sure you'll manage to pull you weight."

I sighed with relief, and said a "thank you," before following him out.

*

*

*

"Okay, now as I'm sure you know, dragons are mostly solitary creatures, and they've been known to attack their own kind just as easily as anything else. Naturally, you'd never find such a concentrated population in the wild, the biggest part of our job is to keep them from fighting with each other."

My babysitter, I'm sorry, _learning coach_, Rich Tourdy, was informing me of the ins and outs of dragon keeping, while I followed behind him outside the high fences that housed our scaly charges, and tried not to touch anything.

"Stupefies don't work. Impedementias don't work. In fact, due to the highly magical nature of their hides, just about anything you cast directly at them bounces right back.. Your best bet is a good shield spell. Nine times out of ten, it's all you need. A really strong shield can separate two dragons faster than anything." He stopped and turned to me, "You do know some good shield spells, right?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle that." Shield spells? This loosened me up considerably. And auror _had_ to be able to pull off a first rate shield, or they'd never make it past their first field missions. 

The roar started as if on cue. 

And another roar echoed it. 

With a start, I realized the noise was coming from the fenced area just on our right, and a second later, I felt the wind whip past me, as Rich made a mad dash for the gate. He threw it open to reveal a Norwegian Ridgeback, and a Hungarian Horntail circling eachother.

"Oh, Christ!" I heard Rich exclaim, "Who put these two in here together?"

"Not sure," called someone from the other side of the enclosure, "But someone needs to go get Cletis. RIGHT NOW!"

"You," Rich said, turning to me, "get out of here, now. Find Cletis, tell him Blackie and Shark are the 7th pen." 

I started to go, then I saw it. He'd turned to me, away from the fray, so he didn't see the Horntail moving. But I did.

My mouth dropped open.

"Didn't you hear me?"

I raised my wand. "_Contego!_" I shouted with all my might, and the spiked tail that had been headed toward him bounded away harmelessly.

He turned to see the leathery appendage pass over both our heads. That's why no one was watching it's backswing. 

I felt like I'd been struck mid-spine by a tree trunk at high velocity, I flew forward, and rolled several times. I remembered tasting dirt, and blood, and a mind numbing pain settling over me. Then I remembered hearing Cletis's voice from somewhere far above me.

"We'd better tell the boss about this, right away. . ."

*

*

*

I dreamed of hands. Deft, slender, _pale_ hands, moving over my neck and arms with a fluid grace, down my back in feather light touches. A flash of silver-gray eyes, the twist of thin, agile lips. . . and skin. Skin the color of moonlight on marble, but so much warmer than stone. Skin stretched taunt over sinuous muscle. A body built for liquid movement, grace and agility over strength.

I awoke just before dawn, drenched in a cold sweat, to a tapping at my window.

*

*

*

okay, The Kendra the Warrior Babe thing was a nod to Christopher Moore, the witty, irreverent, and remarkable author of such classic works as _Practical Demonkeeping, The Lust Liozzard of Melancholy Cove, Island of the Sequined Love Nun, _and, my personal favorite, _Lamb: the Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal._ I have him to blame for the lateness of this chapter ( I was on a kick, what can I say?)

anyway, thanks for everyone who's been following so far, I really do appreciate all the reviews, and constructive criticism. 

Thank you, Liar, I thought I might have been going a bit over the top with Hermione in this, as well, but then I thought about it. Hermione really _is_ very emotional. . . she's just doesn't generally express those emotions in anger. Although she has been known to do so, when she's under a lot of stress (a certain slap, anyone?). I figured, the short temper was justified, considering that in a months time, she lost her boyfriend, her job, and (thanks to Malfoy) all her prospects, and ended up working for her childhood enemy, who takes every opportunity to annoy her. 

I will, however, keep an eye on that, like I said, it was a concern of mine, as well. 

I just wanted to take a second here to plug some great fics, that aren't (in my humble opinion) getting nearly enough play. 

God of the Lost, by Gravidy- this is awesome. . . great characterizations, great story. . . great. . . everything. The story just feels well thought out, and the world is immersive.

The Secret Keeper, by Phantasm- Very well written, dark with a tinge of humor. Well, I laughed anyway. 

Or Lady's Ankle by Random Minion- Not your average Draco, but then again, that's one of the reasons why I like it. . . 

Oh boy, I think that is my longest author's note to date. 

Thanks for your time. . . 


	8. this time, the dream's on me

Well, this chapter would have been written sooner, but I was on vacation… aren't you jealous. Anyway, after I got back, I signed up for a deviant art account so I could post illustrations for this story. At the moment, they aren't so hot, seein' as how I don't have a scanner, and I'm crap with photoshop, but hopefully, I'll get some of my other stuff scanned in. 

Oh, and enjoy the chapter.

"It's that bloody bird again," said one fuzzy voice.

"Blasted thing gives me the creeps," answered another.

I really wished that they'd just stop. If they did, then I could go back to that wonderful dream I'd been having. I struggled to remember exactly what that dream was. Something about moonlight, and skin, and hands… god, what a dream. . . god. . . oh god!

My eyes flew open, and at the sight of Harry and Ron leaning over either side of my bed, I swallowed the cry of alarm that had risen to my lips.

It was only a dream, 'Mione, I told myself. Only a dream. Just forget it.

Forget it!

I couldn't.

It wasn't the contents of the dream that bothered me so. I mean, I was 23, and while they weren't exactly frequent, I had had erotic dreams before. And this one was actually pretty tame, as far as they went. Nothing graphic (at least not that I could remember) just impressions, feeling. I hadn't even really seen his face. No, it wasn't the what. It was the who. 

His face I might not have seen, but who else has such pale skin? And those hands? And come on, I'd recognize that smirk anywhere.

Malfoy.

Good Lord, girl, just be thankful you woke up when you did. . . speaking of which. . . 

"What _are_ you two doing in my room?" I asked, revulsion giving way to curiousity.

"The clock," Harry supplied.

"Clock?"

"Yeah, mom's clock," Ron explained, "it said that you'd been injured."

"So naturally," Harry finished, "we rushed right over as soon as we heard."

Injured? Injured. . . that was right! The last thing I remembered was taking a dragon tail to the back, in a blow that _should_ have broken my spine. 

A tentative stretch of my back revealed sore muscles, but no serious damage. I said a silent thank you to the gods, and was grateful, all be it grudgingly, to Malfoy for giving me that dragonhide.

I snuggled back down in my pillow, and pulled my covers to me, getting comfortable. 

Wait a minute, Dragonhide was _not_ comfortable to sleep in.

A glance under the covers confirmed my fears. I wasn't wearing my Dragonhide anymore. Someone had changed me. 

I turned scarlet. . . had it been Harry, or Ron? No. no, I didn't want to know. Best to just pretend it hadn't happened. Besides, at least it wasn't some stranger, or (God forbid) some one like Malfoy. These were guys I could trust not to _ever_ bring it up again. Or else.

I should actually be thankful.

And I was. "So, you guys came to my rescue, eh? Brought me home, put me to bed, and watched over me. What would I do without you?"

Ron blushed a little at the praise. "Uh, thanks, 'Mione, but actually. . . "

Uh-oh. I had a bad feeling about this.

"Actually?" I prodded.

"Well, you have to understand, Hermione, we would have been there in an instant, had we known," Harry said, "but Ron was at work, and Cho and I were, um, unreachable, so it took a while for her to get hold of us."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "by the time we found out, you'd already been taken home."

"By whom?" did I really have to ask? As bad as my day had gone, it only stood to reason that it would be the person who would cause me the most humiliation.

"Er. . . Malfoy. He was leaving just as we showed up."

Of course. 

*tap. . . tap. . . tap*

"Could somebody get that?" my voice was muffled by the hands I'd buried my face in.

"Oh, I forgot he was out there," Harry said, jumping up, and flying to the window. 

He fumbled with the lock before pushing it up, and Omen soared through the opening as soon as it was large enough for him to fit. He did a quick tour of the room, before dropping a letter into my lap, and winging back out the window.

I read it, and blanched.

"'Mione. . . hey, are you okay?" Ron placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Think about it, Ron, if neither of you brought me home, who changed me into my nightgown?"

The two boys exchanged a look that said the question hadn't occurred to either of them.

"Well. . ." said Harry.

"Er. . ." said Ron

"Argh!" said I, and was out of bed in a flash. I began to pace.

Okay, girl, okay, calm down. . . Malfoy took me home after the accident, changed my clothes, and put me to bed. No, wait, this is actually a good thing. This explains that stupid dream. He took off that gear, and my mind just filled in the blanks. Okay, I was sane.

I sat back down on the edge of the bed, and Ron and Harry gave me funny looks.

"What was in that letter?" Harry asked, as Ron picked the note up from where it had fallen in the bed.

"It just says 'you wore it after all.'"

"What does _that_ mean?"

Shit! It meant Malfoy saw me naked. Or in my underwear at least.

Back on to my feet I went, and was heading for the hallway.

"I really think you should lie back down," Harry called after me, and though he and Ron followed me out the door, neither one made any move to direct me back to my bed physically. A glimpse into the hallway mirror as I passed revealed why. With my eyes narrowed, my teeth bared, and my nostrils flaring, I could only be described as fierce. I would hate to be Draco Malfoy right about now.

Two minutes later, I was pinching floo powder into my fireplace with Harry and Ron calling protests over my shoulder.

I gave a floo listing I knew well, since it was the one I used when I arrested Lucius Malfoy. 

"Malfoy Manor, master bedroom."

There was a groan from Harry, and a "don't do anything rash," from, of all people, Ron.

The fire flared black for a moment, before turning green again, and I was staring at the head of a strange witch bobbing in my fire.

"I'm sorry, that's a private floo listing, you don't have sufficient authorization." There were twin relieved sighs from behind me, "If you'd like, I can connect you with the floo in the entrance hall."

"No," I cursed softly. That wouldn't do at all. I needed the element of surprise, but of course Malfoy wouldn't just want anyone tripping into his bedroom. I should have expected that. After all, the only reason I' d been able to use the listing last time was because. . . was because. . . 

"Get me Alastor Moody."

*

*

*

Malfoy's hair was tousled. He was bleary eyed, and shocked, and sitting up in bed. And his hair, hair that he'd kept meticulously groomed since I'd known him, hair of whichI'd never seen even so much as one out of place, HIS HAIR WAS TOUSLED! This was why I lived, breathed, and got out of bed in the morning. This was why I should never leave the house without a camera. 

Draco Malfoy with bed head. 

Oh why, oh why, did I have to leave my camera?

"What," he drawled (god I hated it when he drawled), "are _you_ doing in _my_ bedroom?"

All my prior amusement melted away. "You horrible, you vile, you rotten…"

He yawned. 

"Yes, Granger, we're all very impressed by your colorful use of adjectives, but it _is_ very early in the morning, and if you could just get on with answering my question, I'd much appreciate it."

I sputtered, even as the word odious sprang to my lips, "I can't believe that even _you_ would be so low as to take advantage of the situation. It's barbaric, it's crude, it's—"

"What," he interrupted, and asked with the air of the truly confused, " are you _on_ about?"

"I'm on about _you_, putting your filthy hands on me while I was unconscious and unable to defend myself."

And now he smiled. A sly, knowing smile, and I hated him for it.

"Oh. . .that."

"'Oh.?' 'That?'" I flushed in anger and embarrassment. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Oh, no," he said, eyes widening, "it also bears noting that you have a glorious body." His voice dipped low, and as seductive as the black satin sheets that draped across his raised knees, and fell over his hips, but frustratingly, stopped there, leaving everything above bare. I tried not to notice that, while he wasn't exactly muscular (and I prefer a man with a muscular build, I assured myself) he wasn't scrawny either. Fluid and graceful, and. . .and. . . and he was talking again, "gorgeous. . .delightful. . .delectable. . .you see, Granger, I'm good with adjectives too. Shall I continue?"

I shook my head. I was mortified.

"How about "S's"? There's smooth, sleek, and sexy, of course. . .but how about sensuous?" Each word he spoke caused me to pale more. I was horrified. "A. . . admirable, B. . .beautiful, C. . . curvaceous, D. . .well, I've done 'D,' haven't I" He was enjoying this, "E. . ."

By now I was sheet white, and shaking, and I felt like I was going to vomit.

He stopped now, and rolled his eyes, "Relax, Granger, I never touched you."

Relief broke over me like a wave. "You. . . you didn't?"

"Well, that's not _entirely_ true. I did take you home, but after that, I called a healer, and let him take care of you."

"You called a healer?"

"Yes, don't look so shocked, this job _does_ come with medical, after all." His feature twisted into a scowl. "You know, Granger, I know you don't exactly have a high opinion of me, but in the future, I'd like it if you could give me a _little_ credit."

And I was embarrassed again. Here I was, so quick to assume the very worst of him. I was ashamed of myself.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"What!" his jaw dropped in shock.

"I'm sorry, I was ready to string you up, when I should have been grateful. You took me home, and even called a healer, and I just. . .well, anyway, I'm sorry."

"I was in the neighborhood," he said with a grumble.

In the neighborhood? 

"I knew it was you!"

"Huh?"

"In the Dirty Witch. . .I knew it was you." I beamed triumphantly, "what were you doing there anyway?"

"Why, I was there to see you in that outfit I bought you, of course," he answered, as though it should be obvious. "Seeing _you_ in that get-up would have been priceless. Would've kept me chuckling for weeks."

He was there to laugh at me in my outfit! "You really are just a mental eleven-year-old, aren't you?"

"Come on, Granger, it would have brought me the same amusement that seeing me with my hair all mussed up has secretly brought you." Oh god, was I that transparent? "too bad you ruined it with that brown robe."

Quite suddenly I found the ability to, once again, be outraged at Draco Malfoy, and all was right with the world.

A great weight was lifted off my shoulders. Malfoy hadn't seen me naked, I was still capable of despising the bastard, and that dream had just been the product of my. . .very. . . own. . .fevered. . . 

Damn.

"But, if you didn't undress me, then, why. . ." I stopped short.

"Why did what?"

Oh no, there was no way I was going to tell him about that dream. Especially after the way he tormented me when I thought he'd undressed me. I could just imagine the way he'd act if he knew that he'd been recently starring in my most personal imaginings. 'Did I touch you here? Oh, Granger, did I run my hands over your breasts? Did I kiss your neck? Did I. . .' Ack! Now I really was going to be sick.

"Say, Granger, you're looking a little green around the gills, are you feeling alright?"

"Never better," I responded distantly.

"Well, you don't look fine. Frankly," he said, bluntly "You look terrible."

I shot him a glare, and he smirked back.

"I'll tell you what, take the rest of the day to recuperate, I'm sure the keep can handle one day of being short staffed. But I expect you to be back at work tomorrow. I'm not paying you to laze about, after all."

I nodded.

"Um, Can I apparate out of here?" I asked.

Malfoy gave a nod. "I hereby give you express permission to get the fuck out of here. The wards shouldn't bother you."

"Good," I responded, and disappeared.

A moment later, I was slumped on my couch.

"So," Harry asked conversationally, emerging from my kitchen with two steaming cups of tea, "how did it go?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it."

"That well, hm?"

"Where's Ron?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, he had to go in to work early. George left out a just add water tornado, and Fred set off the sprinkler system while testing their new LavaLicks (tm). They needed him for clean up."

"I would trade bosses with Ron any day."

*

*

*

It was noon, and I'd spent the whole day reading more on Ridgeback. It was a bit disturbing. Well, even more disturbing than the previous times.

You see, the casualty report didn't reflect it. . .I mean. Sure, the number of accidents had been up in last month, but over all, they were still below industry norms. However, with all this extra time I had to research, I'd found a startling trend. 

The number of incidents that didn't result in injury had sky rocketed. Since the beginning of the quarter, there had been frayed ropes, switched pen assignments resulting in situations like the one that occurred yesterday, dropped wards, and any number of dangerous happenings, the majority of which were handled without any damage to persons or properties, but I was convinced. 

There was a saboteur at the ranch. 

So that's how I ended up in front of Tracy Higgins desk, for the second day in a row, talking over a mound of papers.

"What do you mean, you don't know where they are!"

"Well, I'm really sorry, but if you haven' t noticed, things are a little crazy around here right now."

"You mean how you're always buried in papers?"

"Yeah, that. . .look, up until a month ago, I had an assistant, and then he up and quit, and now I've got to muddle through this all by myself. My god, do you have any idea how many people I have out on jobs right now? And just myself to keep track of where everyone is, and who needs people, and the paperwork is always getting lost, and. . .and. . ."

"And, aren't you in the temp department?" I asked, "couldn't you just assign yourself an assistant until you find someone permanent?"

He shook his head, "doesn't work that way, I've got to go through channels to. . .and I've lost my own paperwork."

"Oh, for crying out loud. . ." I groaned, then grabbed a stack of papers off his desk before spelling the rest to follow.

"Hey! What are you doing with those?" His voice shrill with alarm.

"I'm borrowing them. Don't worry, you'll have them back tomorrow."

And I apparated home.

*

*

*

well, I hope you all enjoyed it. 

Nothing much to say now, except of course, that reviews and constructive criticism are vital to my existence.

Oh. . .those URLs I promised. 

Okay, fanfiction.net is being seriously picky about what it will and will not let me upload, so bear with me now

You're going to have to go back and delete all the spaces, but here's the url 

Ch 7: www . deviantart . com/view/2747255

You can see the one I did for this chapter by clicking on the artist name (caprice, that's me) and going to the gallery.

Sorry to make this so difficult.


	9. getting caught

"What," asked Tracy Higgins, as he wrinkled a slightly over-sunned (no need to wonder what _he'd_ done after my file thieving essentially gave him a half day yesterday) nose, "is it?"

"What is it?" I asked, incredulous. "What is it!" I gave him my best 'you can't be serious look' which he returned with what I assume was _his_ best 'of course I am.' "'It,' I'll have you know, is the latest in laptop processing, and the most powerful notebook galleons can buy!"

"Oh."

I started to tell him about how I'd had special order it from the States, and how lucky he was that I had. I started to tell him how it was a wizarding special, with magic-compatible software, and a power adapter specially designed to feed off the energy of a simple _lumos_ spell. I started to, but then I noticed the glazed look in his eyes. Immediately cut myself off. 

He was hopeless.

"It's a muggle thing.," I said with a gargantuan sigh.

"Oh!" that perked him up, "technology! I see. You know, we had to install a telephone in the office after Mr. Malfoy made a few muggle acquisitions."

"Figures," I grumbled.

"Huh?"

"Well, it's just that I had to listen to that 'muggle hater' garbage of his for seven years, and now he's buying stock in muggle companies. I suppose greed is equal opportunity, isn't it?"

"Well, business, as they say, is business, and right now, it's about time I got on with mine. In that spirit, I'm afraid I'm going to have to request that you return those files of mine."

"That's what I've been trying to show you," I said, moving him behind his (for once) uncluttered desk, and urging him into the chair with a firm hand on his shoulder, and I set the shiny new laptop on the desk before him. "It's all," I maneuvered myself so that I was standing behind his chair, and reached over his shoulders to flip the notebook open, "in," I double clicked on an icon that said 'personnel database,' "_here_!" I finished triumphantly as the screen shot up with information on various Malfoy international employees.

"You mean you've transfigured them?" 

"Oh, if only it were that easy." I shook my head, "no, I was up half the night doing data entry."

"That seems like an awfully lot of work. Couldn't you just. . . you know. . . use a spell, or something. These things can't be that complicated. Maybe a transcribing spell?"

I straightened, and tried not to sound offended that anyone would question my ability to research appropriate spells, (if there had been a good one to do the work, I would have found it! And indeed, I _had_ used magic. An acceleration spell. How else was I to have typed so fast?) when I replied, "no, there was not a 'transcription' spell that would have worked. They all require that the spell be used on parchment, and none have been adapted to use with a keyboard. Some things just have to be done the muggle way.

"The benefits," I continued, brightening, "however, far outweigh the initial inconvenience."

"Really?" he sounded a bit skeptical, so I set out to prove it to him.

"Sure, okay, you've already seen the personnel files, but let me demonstrate this in action." 

I leaned over again, and cracked my knuckles, before setting about typing again, "okay, within this database, you can pull up, and review (or change) any Malfoy Int. employee that's attached to your department." I demonstrated this by searching my name, "see, Gage, Gatting, Getty, Gottard, ah, here I am, Granger, Hermione. A double click of the mouse, and viola, you can view my personal profile, my talents and skills (you'll notice that organization is one of them) my past job experience, whether or not I'm currently assigned, and watch this," I pulled up another program, "I have a list of all the companies Malfoy owns, and all the positions they have. Now when one of those needs filling, you simply type in the job," I demonstrated this by entering 'dragon keeper,' "and pull up a list of all qualified, unassigned temps." 

Here I felt the need to point out that I wasn't on said list, but Mr. Higgins was growing excited now. 

"That's amazing! Oh, wow, Miss Granger, that's going to cut my workload in half!" 

He insisted that I stick around for a little while longer, and help acquaint him with his new machine (and agree to come by later and give him more lessons) and by the time I left, I'd managed to show him how to use the WWN (that's World Wizarding Net… maintained by muggleborns, and wizard Muggophiles who considered themselves technology experts, and even managed to get him set up with an email account. Sexywiz482 @ wands.org (me: are you _absolutely _sure? Him: oh, _yes_!) 

It takes all kinds.

In the interest of maintaining acceptable levels of productivity, however, I did not teach him about computer solitaire.

All in all, a time consuming process, but worth it.

How else was I supposed to get the personnel files for Ridgeback Ranch (files I hadn't even gotten the chance to read yet) copied over to my computer, and tucked safely into my carrying case as I apparated to work?

Too bad the whole thing made me late.

Imagine. _Me_. . . _late!_

I suppose I should have been thankful when no one noticed, but what I found when I appeared was far from a comfort.

I knew right away that the saboteur had struck again. The yard was full of the sound of pounding foot steps, as wizards darted all around me, chasing. . . were those _goats_! I squinted, and rubbed my eyes, then looked again. Yes definitely goats. 

To punctuate this, one black kid was strutted in front of me on his four long, spindly legs, with an official looking document hanging out of his bearded mouth. What was going on?

I took the opportunity to grab the first person to walk by. It happened to be a young boy, about 16, maybe, and dressed in casual robes. He was striding past, and looking purposeful when I reached out and closed my fist over the first thing it came into contact with: the swinging horse shoe pendant that hung from a chain on the boys neck. 

He realized I'd made my grab a moment to late, and his forward momentum carried him through, until he jerked against the metal I held. I ignored his strangles sound as he throttled himself. "Pardon me, but you wouldn't mind telling me _what the bloody hell is going on!_"

The boy rubbed his neck, and glared at me for a moment, before recognition sunk in. "Oh," he said, his eyes softening slightly, "Miss Granger, is that right?" I nodded, "I'm sorry I didn't recognize your immediately, but, well, the last time I saw you, you weren't nearly so. . . um. . . lively."

I felt this sudden urge to massage my temples. 

"That was terribly exciting! Oh, if you'd died, it would have been our first fatality in the history of Ridgeback." I scowled, "n-not," he continued, with a nervous stammer, "that I'd, you know, _want_ for you to have died… it just would have been terribly exciting, that's all."

Quit while you're behind, kid. 

Instead I said, "speaking of excitement, what's going on here? And why are there goats everywhere?"

"This? Nowhere near as dangerous. Someone just forgot to lock the goat pen. Now What happened the other day... wow!"

This time I really did massage my temples. 

"It's too bad Mr Malfoy showed up right away to take you off, though. A lot of the boys wondered about that, they reckon you've got a _thing_ with him."

My lip curled disdainfully at the thought of me having any sort of. . ._thing_ with Draco Malfoy. "What, is there a betting pool, or something?" I asked a bit more violently than necessary. 

The boy retreated a step, and gulped. 

So they _did_ have a betting pool.

Focus, Granger. "So, someone forgot to lock the pen, eh?"

He breathed a sigh of relief that I'd chose to just drop it, "Yeah, I think it was Wood who did last night's feeding. He's going to be in so much trouble once they're all rounded up again. Oh, I can't wait to see—" 

"Bo!" came Cletis' voice from around a corner, "hurry up, and get your want. I wan't you to help Rich finish roundin' up these last few stragglers." A moment later, the body to which the that voice belonged rounded the corner, and he gave me that easy smile of his, when he saw who it was.

"Why, Miss Granger, feelin' better, I hope?"

"Much, thank you, this young gentlemen was just telling me about the Goat Liberation front that seems to be based here."

"Was he? Well, he _should _have been helpin' instead a yappin'. His voice stern as the boy flinched and hurriedly took his leave. "Bo's a good kid, he just likes to talk a bit to much. Sort of like…" his eyes clouded over for a moment, and I could see he was reliving a painful memory. "Well, it doesn't matter, anyway," he said, his vision clearing instantly, as he brought the present into focus. "so. . . goats. I'm sure Bo already told you about it. Stupid things got out of their pens, and somehow managed to get into the office, where the little bastards proceeded to eat the medical records of only the most temperamental and dangerous dragons on the ranch. So now, of course, We gotta call the vet in to examine 'em all. It's really a big hassle."

"Wait, but goats? Why do you even _have_ goats?"

"Oh," Cletis said, in a slightly sheepish voice, that was only more endearing for his bulk, "I forgot you didn't make it to feedin' time. Well, Most of the adult dragons prefer live prey, so. . ."

I cringed, "a bit morbid, isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose, but it's got to be done."

"Hm. . . so, why didn't the wards go off when the pen was opened?"

"No wards on the goat pen. No one thinks of them as dangerous, but boy, did they prove me wrong." He gave me a little smile, "you're awfully interested, aren't you?"

I debated momentarily about whether or not I should tell Cletis about my suspicions, but decided almost instantly to keep it under my hat. At the moment, I only _had_ suspicions. And besides, I hadn't exactly ruled Cletis out as a suspect.

"Just curious."

*

*

*

I was working with Rich again, and he was, once again, speaking to me in that instructor voice of his. I watched the back of his head as we walked between the hatchery, where we'd just been tending the dragonlings, and the goat pen, where we were preparing for the evening feedings. 

Rich was my type of man. Tall, maybe even taller than Cletis, broad, muscular shoulders, light brown hair that was shorn short. His features were even, and on the rugged side. Not delicate and fine. I wasn't interested in delicate, fine, facial features. Really.

Rich talked on, about the importance of being aware, and alert, and double-checking everything.

I enjoyed the view.

Or I tried to at least. 

I really did.

But for some reason, my mind kept slipping back to a pair of defter hands. To a much shorter, more lightly built frame, and I cursed my sex-deprived mind. The only reason I couldn't stop thinking about it, was that, well, that stupid dream was the closest thing I'd had to sex since I'd left Magnus over a month ago. I must be getting desperate. For god sake, what was I doing? Ogling a co-worker, just so I could rid my mind of some stupid little dirty dream about Malfoy.

Nine out of ten erotic dreams aren't even about sex anyway. It could have been about my desire to be, I don't know, free of him. Or how I feel like I'm trapped in his stupid little game. Or, you know, how I want him dead, or something. Perfectly valid things for me to be feeling about Malfoy.

"But what about the tenth."

"Excuse me?" Rich turned to face me, I hadn't even noticed we'd reached the goat pen.

"I, er, I said. . ." think, 'Mione, "the tint. . . what about the tint? The wood here, it's not the same that you use on the dragon enclosures, it's a different tint."

He grinned, "that's very observant of you," he seemed pleasantly surprised. So was I. "No, we use ash on the dragon enclosures, for it's magical properties, but there's no need to take such precautions with the goats. Wouldn't do any good anyway, goat's aren't magical, can't be harmed by ash, you know."

"Of course," I returned his grin, "how very clever, use ash's natural abilities to weaken magical beasts against the dragons. I suppose the ash fences, combined with your wards make it nearly impossible for one of them to get loose." Unless, of course, some one let them loose.

I filed this little tidbit of information away for further reference, I'd mull it over a bit more when I was on my couch, with a steaming tea cup in one hand, and a personnel file in the other.

I heard a ***pop* **over my shoulder and got that sense of impending doom that let me know it was Malfoy. I told myself it was ridiculous, that there was no _way_ I could tell it was him. So, I turned around to find myself staring into the very last pair of eyes I wanted to see.

"What?" I said, with even more rancor than usual, after spending a sleepless evening alternately working on Temporary Services database, and convincing myself that it was perfectly natural for me to be dreaming about my enemy, my tormenter and my boss, his mere presence annoyed me. 

He drew himself up to his full height, (_definitely_ too short for my tastes, I reasserted) and glared down his nose at me. 

"We need to talk."

"Oh, for god sakes, Malfoy, between your harassing me, and shagging your bimbos, where do you find time to _run_ this company?"

His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and he took me by the arm. "Excuse us," he told Rich in an ice water voice, then he pulled me aside.

"What is your problem?" he hissed the moment we were out of earshot from Rich.

"Well, the short answer to that question would be 'you.'"

"I don't get it Granger, just yesterday, you were saying how sorry you were to have jumped to the wrong conclusions, now you're acting like you've just caught me shagging your mum, or something."

He was right. I knew he was right. I was being irrational. 

The knowledge made me queasy.

"Well, get on with it then," I prompted.

"Granger, what's this about an unapproved expense you're trying to charge to _me_?"

"Oh, that… it was a necessity. For the office, you know"

"It was 584 galleons! What did you buy, a small country?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy, you can't get a small country for that price."

"What did you buy woman?"

"Come on, Malfoy, it was 584 galleons, as you pointed out. Nothing. Chump change to a guy like you. If the reimbursement hadn't had _my _name on it, you'd never have read it at all."

He smirked, "perhaps, but the fact of the matter is that I have noticed, and I want to know where my money is going."

"I bought Tracy Higgins a laptop."

"A what?"

*

*

*

I set the kettle on to boil, and placed my notebook on the table, opening it up so that I could work while I waited for my tea.

Black screen. Huh? 

I checked the battery, and made sure it was firmly seated. Still nothing. Hm… with a sigh, I took the power cord out and plugged it into the wall. Not so much as a flicker. 

Oh no. 

It was broken. Oh god! My files! What was I going to do? It had the Ridgeback personnel files on it, and I absolutely needed them. 

This was just great. I mean, I didn't even have the hardcopies anymore, having returned them. . . hello, there's an idea. A swish and flick later, and I was standing in the middle of the darkened office of 28 Blunderbus ln. 

"_Lumos,_" I whispered, and my wand flared to life, casting a bluish light all through the room. 

Was I a bit nervous about my breaking and entering? Not really. I was over to the file cabinet in a flash, and opened it with another flick of my wand. 

"Ridgeback. . . Ridgeback. . . Ridge—"

"Ah-ha!" and the lights flickered on over me. 

Whirled to find myself staring into a burly chest. My eyes traveled upward until they came to rest upon a familiar face.

"Goyle!?"

"M. . . er, Miss Granger?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm on Draco's security staff. Registered a break in here tonight. . .I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to detain you. The boss is going to want to speak with you about this."

Detain me! What a waste of time. I wasn't worried about what Malfoy would do to me, but I really needed those files. . . and there was no way Goyle was going to let me finish looking for them. He might have been thick, but he wasn't _that_ thick. What to do, what to do. . . of course! 

He didn't notice me reaching into my pocket with one hand, as he took me by the other, and a click later, my put-outer had plunged the room into darkness. It took only a moment for me to return to the file cabinet, retrieve what I hoped was the right file, stuff it under my shirt, and be back in Goyle's grip by the time the lights came back up. 

He was looking puzzled. "Strange," he mumbled.

"Mm-hm. . . now, let's get going, shall we?"

*

*

*

okay, guys, firstly, I'd like to say thank for the wealth of support you're all giving this fic. It's really terrific. 

Anyway, I just wanted to take a minute to talk about my love/hate relationship with the first person. When I was first planning this story, I knew right away that I wanted it to be first person. I'd never done a lengthy piece in that perspective, but I absolutely loved the way you could really get into a person's head with it, like you just can't do otherwise. Unfortunately, what I love is what I hate, because, in a first person, there's really no such thing as objective observation. It's all looking through tinted glass. Malfoy is ugly because Hermione hates him. Rich is her type because she needs _some one_ other than her boss to be her type. You don't know the color of Cletis's eyes because she never noticed. You can't even trust her views of herself, since, like everyone else, she's prone to self-deception, and quite often thinks one thing while meaning another. 

Maddening, I tell you.

It also means that there's no story when Hermione isn't there and conscious, which is why, unfortunately, I can't write about Malfoy and his little musings, and what exactly happened at Ridgeback after Hermione's accident (sorry, Kou Shu'n) . It would break the perspective, and alter the feel of the fic. 

On the subject of writing my Hermione/Malfoy scenes, well, it isn't that I think they're bad. . . I generally like the way that they turn out, it's just that I spend hours coming up with witty one-liners that I just have to use, and getting them all to fit nicely is a pain.

Well, that's enough for now. . . as usual, I love getting reviews, tell me what you think. . . 


	10. And the Consequences

A 5x5 ft horizontal slab of oak separated myself from Draco Malfoy. He had this way of sitting, Malfoy did, all hunched forward, his weight on his elbows, his gray eyes regarded me over thin steepled fingers, that fairly screamed "lackadaisical arrogance."

It made me long to feel my fist connecting with his pointed chin.

How could he just be sitting there, so relaxed, and not saying a word, when the silence was driving me batty?

Oh. Right. Stress relieving extra-curricular activities, I reminded myself. You see, after I'd been taken in to custody, Goyle and his partner (3 guesses) had flooed the waste of protein that now sat across from me, and he'd informed the two lunkheads that had me in custody that I wasn't to be released until he'd gotten the chance to interview me. He'd then proceeded to take his sweet time getting here, despite the fact that it was just a swish and flick away.

I'd managed to get from Crabbe that he was busy. . . now how had he put it? Dictating to his assistant?

I bet.

It had been 35 minutes from floo to apparation. Must have been some letter he was composing.

And all the while, I'd felt a quiet rage building in the pit of my stomach. A sort of righteous indignation, if you will. I had to wait in a holding area with Tweedles Dee and Dum for company, with the file I'd pinched and shrunk burning a hole in my back pocket, while Malfoy was busy "dictating" to. . . what's her name? Carol, or Catherine, or Kitty, or something. 

By the time he'd actually shown up, I was ready to kill.

Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle were still there to hold me back. 

I'd settled instead for a stony silence as he'd dismissed his thugs, and took the seat across from me, but I was regretting that tactic now, for it seemed he was quite willing to let it stretch on into eternity, while I went quietly mad. 

Silence, I was beginning to learn, was my sworn enemy. Silence allowed my mind to wander, and lately, I'd been less than pleased about the territory it had taken to sojourning in. Right now, it was bouncing between holy rage at Malfoy's. . .well, his lack of professionalism, and the embarrassment I felt, sitting there, his soul piercing gray eyes on me, while my memory kept feeding me random images from _that accursed dream!_

Fifteen minutes, at least, we'd been alone, and all he'd done so far was smirk and stare.

Oh, he knew how crazy this was making me, though it was my good fortune that he didn't know exactly why. He knew, and he was enjoying every minute of this torture. God, but he had the uncanny ability to annoy me.

I added it to my already long list of reasons to hate Malfoy.

Argh! I'd had enough! It had finally reached a point where my options had narrowed to two: break the silence, or break Malfoy's neck.

The later was decidedly the more satisfying one, but the former was less likely to land me in Azkaban. Ex-Aurors didn't do too well there.

Option number one, it was, then.

"So," I offered, in what I hoped was a conversational tone, "still friendly with Crabbe and Goyle, I see." 

"Still friends with Potter the Wonder Boy, and his amazing Red Headed Sidekick, I see"

"Oh, bravo, Malfoy, you've been holding that one in, haven't you. That's twice I've seen you since you saw them, and this is the first you mention of it. Must have just been killing you. You'll have to tell me what it was like, some day. I imagine I'd find the description of your pain most entertaining, sounds like bed-time reading."

"Most people prefer to read other thing before bed." He said with a smirk. "Oh, now don't get all mad, Granger, you're the one who brought up old acquaintances. "

"But _I_ didn't insult your friends, Malfoy.

"Since when have I needed a reason to insult Potter and his lot?"

Well, it was nice to know exactly how much Malfoy'd matured over the years. I gave a malicious glare, and responded, "oh, come on Malfoy, you've always had plenty of _reasons_, insecurity being the chief among them."

His eyes flickered for a moment, as if he couldn't decide whether to be find me infuriating, or entertaining. Infuriating, I hoped. I suddenly realized how much this amusement with which he'd been treating me as of late was beginning to irk me. 

I wanted to push him until he lost his temper, and gave me a real reason to hit him. I wanted to break his resolve.

So I pressed my advantage.

"of course," I said, making sure to keep my voice light, "there was also jealousy (and of course we can see why), idiocy, just plain meanness, and. . ." I trailed off as he began to chuckle. "Malfoy, perhaps you weren't following, but I was insulting you."

"I caught that, Granger," he said with a shake of his head, "but come on, Granger, you're trying too hard. The thought of it. Me. . . jealous of Potter and Weasley. You really were fishing for insults, weren't you." He wiped a mirthful tear from the corner of his eye, "not only that, but it helps, when delivering insults, when you don't sound so. . .forced."

"Git."

"See, Granger, better already," he nodded in approval, "if slightly unoriginal."

"I assume you're used to being called a git, aren't you?"

"Quite. But I believe we've gotten a bit off track."

"Were we ever 'on track?' All I seem to remember was you, staring at me."  
  
"Was I staring?" he asked, eyes wide in what could only be feigned innocence. Malfoy was never innocent. "I was only wondering what could possibly get such a smart little witch so worked up that she forgot to check for wards before apparating into a secured building. It was an exceedingly foolish thing to do, the sort of bumbling I'd attribute to one of your loathsome little pals, but hardly what one would expect from the woman who was supposedly the smartest witch in our year."

"Sod off," I said sullenly.

"Temper, temper, Granger. I was only asking." He leaned forward, his grin widening. "So tell me, my little witch, what did you want so badly in the middle of the night. I doubt it was to end up with me."

"I honestly didn't think you'd ward the temp office. Isn't that a bit paranoid?"

"Obviously not."

"Oh, yes, way to go, Malfoy. You guys have really apprehended a hardened criminal this time. Must have made it all worth while."

"Don't be a sore loser, Granger. Just because I've managed to do to you what you tried for years to do to me, namely, catch you breaking the law, doesn't mean you have the right to be sore about it."

"Please, don't even begin to compare this to what you've done!"

"What I've_ allegedly _done, Granger, don't forget, for all your snooping, you never uncovered a thing on me. . .and with good reason: I've been toeing the line since graduation, Darling." My responding growl induced a raised eyebrow from him, "you, on the other hand, have just been caught breaking and entering. Not exactly Azkaban material, I agree, but it _is_ a hefty fine, and a nasty stain on your otherwise virgin pure record."

I got that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"If you should choose to report it, that is."

His grin turned three shades of evil. "That's right, Granger. If I should choose to report it. And if I shouldn't. . .well, I scratch your back, you scratch mine?"

I gulped at the image that leapt to mind, and decided then and there that I needed to get out more. As soon as possible. 

Perhaps even put in a call to my therapist.

"But first thing's first," he continued, "why were you at temporary services tonight?"

It would have been easy just to tell him the truth, I was tired, and drained from having to deal with him, and ready to go home. It would have been easy, but I didn't want to make things easy. Not for him. "None of your business," came my reply.

"Oh, but it is my business. It's all my business. Don't forget whose company this is."

"Perhaps I was having an illicit rendezvous with Tracy Higgins," I said defiantly.

Malfoy's eyes glittered momentarily with something I couldn't quite place, but in a moment, the flash was gone. "He wouldn't dare," came the dark reply.

"Just what do you mean by that?" I asked, thrilled to finally be getting under his skin.

"You're changing the subject, just answer the question."

"I. . ." I didn't understand why I was making this so difficult, "I. . ." it just wasn't rational, "I. . ." what lie would he believe? "I was looking for my file, okay?" I said in a defeated voice, trying to make it sound more like an admission, and less like a lie. "I wanted to know what was next on your twisted little agenda for me."

He leaned back in his char, looking very pleased with himself. "Granger, all you had to do was ask."

I had to stop myself from sighing in relief. That sort of thing was a dead give away.

"So?" I asked.

"So?"

"So, what is it?"

He grinned, "I acquired a Paris lounge about three months ago. Great location, right along the Seine, but the previous owners ran it into the ground, and it's been the last two and a half months just on the renovations. The place needs extra staff for the grand re-opening. It's a short gig, about three days, I should think."

"I suppose I could handle being a hostess," I said with more than a touch of relief.

Malfoy tilted his head, and squinted at me, and I wasn't positive what exactly he was picturing, but I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. "Actually, I was thinking something more on the lines of cocktail waitress."

Cocktail waitress! But. . .hostesses wore suits, and dressed in austere, or sensible clothes. Cocktail waitresses wore little black skirts, and sexy blouses with the top two buttons undone, and four inch heels. "I can't be a cocktail waitress!"

"It's either that," he said with a smirk, "or entertainment. You don't sing do you?" though his tone clearly said that he doubted it.

"I play piano."

Widening of smirk.

"Well, some."

Raised eyebrow.

"I can play 'Chopsticks'"

"Who can't? "

"Don't be a prat, Malfoy."

"Well, honestly, is that your idea of entertainment? A frumpy piano player beating out one song over and over again?"

"I am not frumpy. . .and besides, I think they'd prefer a frumpy pianist to a frumpy waitress."

He continued on as though he hadn't heard me at all, "I think it's pretty obvious why the LWS turned you down for that Events Coordinator job now."

The London Wizard Symphony (as well as Douglas and Darcy, and the Paris Zoo of Magical Creatures, and Bartleby Insurance, and countless other companies) was not a subject I would be bringing up to a Miss Hermione Granger, if I were pasty faced bastard named Draco Malfoy. "I think we _both_ know why they turned me down, you little maggot."

"Again, my dear, I must remind you to keep a reign on that fiery temper of yours. Did I happen to touch a nerve?"

"Of course you did. You always do. And you should, really you work so hard at it."

He looked genuinely shocked. "Granger, it's not work."

Easy now. Repeat after me: I will not strangle my boss, I will not strangle my boss, I will not…

"Don't you have anything better to do than make me hate you?"

"Granger," he said, his smile turning something between charming and seductive, "you don't hate me."

That simple statement, so confident, so sure, coupled with that smile, made my breath catch in my throat, and an electric tingle travel up my spine. Simply revolting. How could I let him do that to me? How could I allow myself to react like that? Answer: I wouldn't.

I stood, and if that wasn't a subtle enough signal that this meeting was over, I asked, "are you going to charge me?"

"I thought we were scratching eachother?"

"We might be, if I stick around. And I can't have your skin under my nails when they find your body. I'll be the prime suspect."

"Off with you then," he said with a wave, "but we aren't through yet, Granger."

And with those ominous words ringing in my ears, I apparated home.

*

*

*

I threw down the file with a disgruntled growl. I'd been reading for a while now, but I hadn't managed to take anything in. I simply couldn't concentrate. 

Damn Malfoy. Damn those stupid meetings of his. Damn. . .damn.

I hated him. Or I suppose that what I really hated was the fact that he was right. For all the horrible things he'd done, I didn't really _hate_ him. I May have come closer to it with him than anyone else, but I didn't actually hate him. 

That bothered me too, I suppose. That I was so close to hatred with him, but I'd never let anyone else get to me the way he did. He made me irrational. He made me illogical. He made me. . .

Argh! Enough! No more!

I mean, for god sakes, how much could one girl think about Malfoy in a day without going insane?

I groaned, and buried my head in my hands. This just kept getting worse. 

With a sigh, I reached out to take the file up once more, but when I lifted it off the table, my eye caught upon the paper under it: the Nine Inch Wands flier. 

Hadn't I promised myself an evening out? Hm… Concert. This Saturday. 

Why not?

*

*

*

Alright, guys. So not much plot in this one, but I did do a really long Granger/Malfoy scene. If anyone was wondering why this took so long, that's why. 

I believe I've mentioned the trouble I have with them. 

I have three totally different versions of that scene floating around in various notebooks, not to mention all the re-writes I did, once I had the basic direction down. I'm still not 100% sure about it, but I'm ready to progress with the story, so it's just going to have to wait until I'm ready to do revisions (speaking of which, feedback greatly appreciated).

Wanted to plug a few, while I'm thinking about it.

I love Plastraa's _Draco's Inheritance _more and more with every chapter. 

Well, crap! There were others, I swear, but I've lost my list!

Well, anyway, I still suggest Gravidy's _God of the Lost_, and Phantasm's _the Secret Keeper _(though she's taking her sweet time with an update ;) ), and I'm still waiting for more from Random Minion.

And that's all I've got off the top of my head. 

Thank you, everybody, and goodnight!!!


	11. Lunch, and Other Natural Disasters

He he he… has it really been two weeks already? My how time flies when you're procrastinating… sorry to take so long with this, but I just haven't been able to get it done lately. Too much work.

Anyway, without further ado:

The next morning found me sitting tired-eyed at my kitchen table, making love to a cup of coffee, while I looked over the file. 

Needless to say, the previous night had been a sleepless one, and when I finally drifted off just after 2 in the morning, it was into troubled dreams that I slipped. After waking up for the third time that night with sweat dripping from my brow, and the memory of shifting silver reaching out to me from the netherworld of my dreams, I finally decided to give it up, and at least get some work done.

That was around 2 and a half hours ago.

I took another sip from my cup, and read another paragraph before I sat up, arching my back and sighing. Nothing. No leads yet.

It was a bit frustrating. I mean, sure, I knew that these things took some time, and all. If I really wanted to nab this guy, it was going to take patience, but at the moment, I was just irritable, and tired, and ready to get the day over with. 

I hunched back over, and blinked my eyes to refocus them, before dragging my finger along a passage that outlined the work history of one Elwood Mortimer Michaels. 

Elwood, or 'Wood,' as I have heard him called, was the man responsible for taking care of the livestock. It was he who'd fed the goats the other evening, and it was he who took the blame for the pandemonium that I encountered yesterday. 

From what I could see, he was a good employee. Not exemplary, though, and not always competent. He'd been relegated to goat duty after the broken jaw incident (which he'd played a small part in), and had been there ever since. So, he was a bit of a fuck-up, yes, but he didn't seem like the sabotage type. And I was sure that the goats were sabotage. I mean, what were the odds that the goats would get out on the same nigh that Cletis forgot to close his office door, and then proceed to eat all of the medical data on the dragons.

Not very high, I should think.

So not Elwood… but he was the only real connection that I had. Perhaps I'd got out of my way to meet him today.

I skimmed over Beauregard Knightshade's file, mostly out of curiosity. He'd seemed much too young to be working at a place like Ridgeback Ranch… and sure enough, Bo, was only 16. 

Interesting.

I worried my bottom lip as I read more. Student of Beauxbaton… in England for a trial vocational program established by Headmistress Olympe Maxim of Beauxbaton… letter of recommendation from Jaques Sinclaire, prof. of Magical Medicine, Aubrey DeVillar, prof. of Creature Studies, and… I paused, furrowed my brow, and read again… Cletis Edenrow. Now that was interesting.

I made a mental note to do a little poking around about that today.

Just before draining my cup for the last time, I looked up one more name: Rich Tourdy. 

Okay, 27, graduate of Beuxbatons academy, fluent in Russian, Italian, French and English, perfect work record… obviously the man bared some watching. It was possible _he_ could be behind the mayhem at Ridgeback… maybe… okay, so the truth was I was using company resources to check out a guy I was thinking of inviting to a concert with me this weekend. I admit it.

Somehow, I thought I'd still be able to sleep at night. And probably 10 times better, once certain, um, _needs_ had been met.

I shivered as a flash of a sheet of silver cut through my mind. Silky strands, thick between my fingers. I quickly pushed those images away.

Yes, what I needed was a night of release, then I could go back to hating Malfoy in peace… lord knew he jumped on every chance _he_ got to feed _his_ appetite, what with those assistants he was constantly cycling through.

I felt a sting of an emotion that was something between anger and… and… no, I just lost it. Perhaps it had been… heartache? No, not quite. Something else then. And then again, it had been _Malfoy_ I'd just been thinking about. It was entirely possible that the whole of the emotion had just been anger.

I shook my head and the effect was a momentary clearing, like cutting through a fog. If I was having trouble deciphering my feelings about Malfoy, then I was obviously too tired. Of _course_ it was nothing but anger. What else could it possibly be?

I ignored the voice that said 'something else.'

Great, now I couldn't even trust my own mind. 

With one more frustrated sigh, I turned to the clock. 

Lord love a duck! I'd been so wrapped up in the file (and Malfoy) that nearly an hour had gone by without my noticing. 

I quickly packed up the folder, and shrunk it before putting it in the pocket of my robes, before hurriedly pouring a glass of orange juice down my throat, and giving myself a quick once-over in the hall mirror (hair a bit on the wild side, cheeks pale, eyes bagged and tired-looking… eh, who cares). Nearly eight! I couldn't believe it. I still had to take my computer in to the shop, and meet Tracy for his computer lessons. And all before work. What _was_ I to do.

I paused in the foyer to take a deep, calming breath, then disappeared with a sharp 'bampf.'

*

*

*

I reappeared in front of a shop that was identified as "Wands and Wires," the only shop in London specializing in Wizarding machines (and I could just imagine the reaction a muggle tech would have to some of the software my notebook sported). They also happened to be the only shop this side of the Atlantic that would fix my computer under warrantee. 

I took the short flight of stars two at a time, and entered the establishment, feeling a bit euphoric at having finally gotten the blasted thing to the shop.

My euphoria was killed a moment later.

"What do you mean I've got to wait until Monday?" I asked, enraged.

The man behind the counter… well, actually, I use the term 'man' loosely. He was much more like a boy… or perhaps 'nauseating adolescent' would be a more apt description. He was obviously chronically plagued by acne, and I had to wonder just why it was that a society that could cure Aids with a swish and a flick could do nothing for this man's skin condition. Shameful. 

"Listen miss," he said, turning his pimpled nose up slightly, Our main tech is on holiday in Tahiti, and the replacement the agency found us rather unfortunately just come down with a very serious case of Weasels."

"Measles," I corrected.

He sniffed irritably, "no," he said, "Weasels… don't ask. Our head tech will be back on Monday, so unless you fancy a Trans-Atlantic apparation to the repair center in New York, I really don't see how you can get it fixed under warrantee."

"But surely there's another alternative!"

"I assure you, madam, there is not." He gave me a curt nod, and a 'good day' as he ushered me out of the building.

Great, life just couldn't get any better. 

There was no way I was going to wait until Monday for my computer. I had one other option: Mick McKay. Mickey was brilliant and knew computers better than anyone else I knew. Unfortunately he was also a bit of an eccentric, and was about as likely to detonate my computer as he was to fix it. That sort of thing tends to _void_ warrantees, and certainly doesn't get covered by them.

Still… it seemed the only choice.

In that case, I'd have to wait until at least after work. If Mickey was going to be mucking about in my laptop, there was no way I was going to trust it to him while I was away. No, I'd have to watch over him like a hawk. 

Not exactly how I'd planned to spend my early evening.

I paused a moment to center myself, before apparating into the office on Blunderbus ln. 

Tracy leapt to his feet so quickly, his chair overturned behind him. He blushed, and mumbled something I couldn't quite catch as he turned to right it.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Oh, er…" he turned back to me, his chair now firmly on the floor, and gave his tie a nervous tug, "I was just startled by you, that's all."

"Startled?" I glanced at the clock, "but it's 8:20… I'm actually a little late."

"Well, um, you know, I'd thought you might not be coming."

"But why wouldn't I…"

"Actually, I sort of hoped you wouldn't."

I paused, my mouth open, ready to finish my sentence. "…come." I finished, the moment the initial shock wore off. And added a "what do you mean by that?" for good measure.

"It's just… I mean, nothing personal, or anything, but I don't think I should take my lessons from you. I… I mean, people could get the wrong idea if spend so much time together… you know, begin to think our relationship is less than professional."

"What people?" I asked, my eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. This all seemed so familiar.

"You know… _PEOPLE_."

I rocked back on my heels like I'd just been caught a physical blow. Of course! This whole thing smacked of Malfoy's influence. Just like the Douglas and Darcy interview. What I couldn't quite understand was _why._ I mean… what possible reason could Malfoy have for wanting not wanting Tracy and I to get too chummy… unless… well, I suppose it was entirely possible that he didn't want Higgins to start to sympathize with me. It would ruin his plans for revenge if Tracy took pity on me, and didn't give me the assignments Malfoy had planned out for me.

But if Tracy was intimidated enough by Malfoy to scratch all future computer sessions with me, then you'd think the git would have little to worry about as far as Tracy openly defying him about my jobs.

Ugh! Trying to figure Malfoy out was giving me a tremendous headache.

"Fine," I said, in a pained voice, as I began to massage my temples. "Whatever… just tell Malfoy I said he was a bastard."

Tracy held back his chuckle, but couldn't keep the smile from his lips altogether. "I'll be sure to bring it up at the next employee meeting."

"You do that," I said, and left by floo this time. My destination I proclaimed as the Dirty Witch. I had half an hour and the mother of all migraines to kill now, and I'd bet anything that in a fine country establishment like that pub, they knew how to make one mean cup of coffee. 

And they certainly did.

I made my way past the two philosophers (apparent regulars) and slipped into a seat at the bar, and Gina didn't seem at all surprised to see me.

"Rough night?" She asked sympathetically, and smiled kindly at me when I nodded. "Wasn't that 'high-handed prat of a man,' again, was it?"

"Right in one," I confirmed, "cup of coffee for a dying woman?"

She snickered, and obliged me. "He must be pretty important to you, if he's got you this worked up."

I snorted. I knew what she was implying. Absurd. "He's my boss, and he's a prat, that's his importance."

"m-hmm… so how has your week been? It's certainly not easy being pushed right into a position like that. I mean, with no training, and all."

The woman had no idea. "Let's put it this way, on my first day, I personally saw to it that their instance of casualties made the 109 mark."

"Is that so? Well, you seem to have come out of it fine, Dear, I suppose you can thank your lucky stars for that."

Right, my lucky stars… or Malfoy. That is, if I could forget that he was the one who put me in danger to begin with.

Gina moved off to polish another counter. And I? I sunk into my coffee, and didn't say another word until I saw the bottom of my cup. 

I put the empty mug on to the counter, left a twelve sickles on the bar (coffee and generous tip) and bid the bartender adieu. 

I was almost to the door when the most heavenly scent drifted under my nose.

"What," I asked, stopping dead less than two feet from the door, and turning back to Gina, "is that smell?"

She grinned. "Oh, that? That would be Marvin in the kitchens."

"Kitchens?" I asked. I hadn't remembered seeing and doors for a kitchen before. I swept my gaze across the room, and was shocked to find one adjacent from the fireplace, right in clean view both times I'd flooed in. Was I really that unobservant, or…

Gina chuckled, "nothing's wrong with your eyes, Dear. The kitchens don't even open until 9:30, why bother with doors to a place that doesn't even require staff until 9?"

I saw her point.

"It smells wonderful." I stated.

"In that case, why don't you drop by for lunch?"

Sounded like a good idea to me. 

*

*

*

I was relieved to find, when I arrived, that things appeared to be running normally. 

Cletis greeted me immediately, and informed me that I was going to be working with the hatchlings again today, and that I'd have to do it without much help from Rich or himself, as the two of them had to spend the first half of the day assisting the vets, who'd come to replace the digested records.

I had no problems with that, the hatchling area was probably the least likely place on the ranch to incur injury, and it was an uneventful first few hours. 

The hatchery was the last stop on the vet rounds, so it just happened that Bo came in to relieve me for lunch just as Cletis and Rich were finishing up. 

I was considering asking Rich to join me at the Dirty Witch, and so I was more than a little shocked when he asked me what my plans were. 

"I've heard that Marvin is an excellent cook. I was hoping to take a trip down the road to the Dirty Witch for something… I don't suppose you'd care to join me."

He gave me a smile… he really had a lovely smile. "Absolutely!"

I'm not sure if he noticed the dark look Cletis cast him, but I certainly did.

*

*

*

The Dirty Witch by lunch time was a much more happening place than it was at half past eight in the morning. The philosophers were _still_ there, though they were sober now (a momentary state, I'm sure) and in addition, there was a family of five seated at a large table near the door, and several single serious drinkers at the bar. Rich and I took a table near the fireplace, and Rich went up to order for us ("trust me, the special is to die for") and I sat back to wait.

Rich returned shortly, and took the seat opposite me, grinning. "About ten minutes," he informed me, "you're going to love this… I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but I think it has potatoes in it…"

"I'm sure it will be perfect," I assured him. "So…" I wasn't really sure what to say, "um, the check-ups went well?"

"Oh, yes," he said with a nod, "went off without a hitch… and such a relief. Seems like lately, everything that _can_ go wrong _does_."

"So you've noticed too!"

"Noticed what?"

My eyes widened in shock as I realized what I'd just said. Rich, of course didn't know about my investigation… hell, even Malfoy didn't know about my investigation… but here I was, nearly giving myself away.

"Um, you know, first the dragon fight, and then the goats… I was sort of wondering if it was always so exciting at the ranch, or if I was just lucky."

"A bit of both," he said, "we thought you were a goner for sure, until we realized you were wearing dragonhide under that robe. Where'd you get that outfit, anyway… very expensive. A few of the boys were thinking… you know… I mean, considering the way he showed up, and all… that maybe…but after seeing you two together…"

I was saved having to answer the question that was coming by Gina bringing by two glasses of water, and shortly after that Rich excused himself to the bathroom.

Rich, I decided, was the nice, sweet, active type of guy I could really go for, and I'd just about talked myself into asking him to accompany me to the concert, when I heard it. It was like hearing Satan himself summoning me, and the effect was to give me violent shudders.

"Granger!" He was in a good mood, which I could only assume meant that I was about to have a very bad day. "I'm glad I've caught you."

I'd been drinking my water when he came in, and managed to think something along the lines of 'what is _he_ doing here' between hacking attempts to dislodge the errand ice chunk in my throat. He approached my table, smirking all the way. "Gee, Granger, are you feeling alright?"

One last cough, and a shaky indrawn breath and then, "isn't there anywhere I'm safe from you"

"Nope," he said, leaning against my table, and peering down at me with amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I thought you of all people would have learned there's no safety from a Malfoy. He pulled my water glass from my stiff fingers, and brought it to his lips for a sip. I was too shocked to say anything as he pulled it away, and the clicking of ice on his teeth as he rolled a cube around his mouth was the only sound for several moments. "Just out of curiosity," he said, his eyes flashing with a mischief that belied his words, "what exactly is it you're afraid I'll do?"

"Shut up, Malfoy.," I mumbled, horrified at the heat that had risen up in my cheeks.

"You're afraid I'll shut up? I don't think so, Granger. Try again."

"Fine, what I'm really afraid of is that you'll never get to the point, and I'll have to endure your obnoxious company for the remainder of my lunch break… speaking of which, how did you know I'd be here?"

"Cletis told me, and my my, but you're being particularly cranky, my dear."

"First of all, I'm not your 'dear' anything, and second, I'm not over cranky, you're just overly annoying! Why have you been so cheerfully intolerable lately?"

My eye twitched as he dipped his fingers into my glass, and pulled out another cube of ice. He popped it into his mouth, and crunched it in satisfaction before answering. "I'm always cheerful, when things are going my way."

I wanted to grab his neck and squeeze until he stopped twitching. "What do you want!" I hissed.

"Your company?"

My glare said I didn't think so.

"No," he conceded, "I suppose not. Who _would_ want your company?"

"I would." It was Rich's voice, and I couldn't explain the feeling of near disappointment at hearing it. "Hermoine," he said as Malfoy and I both turned to him, "is he bothering you?"

Malfoy straightened, greeting Rich with a cold glare, "and if I am, Tourdy?"

To his credit, Rich did not back down. 

"Forget it, Granger," he said, turning away, "I'll talk to you about it later." And with that, he marched back out the front door in a rustle of silk.

"What was he doing here?" And Rich didn't seem so much sweet and shy now as homocidal.

"I'm not really sure, but now I'm going to have to see him later to find out," I resisted the urge to add 'thanks a lot.'

"Right…" he said tightly, then "I'll see you back at the ranch."

And then there was one.

What had just happened, he hadn't even waited for his food, and as much as my feminine ego would love to think that he left because he was jealous of Malfoy and I, it was just too ridiculous to fathom. A guy I barely knew jealous of a man I hated? Definitely ridiculous. There was something else going on.

I started to take a drink from my glass, then remembered at the last minute that Malfoy'd put his fingers in there, and slammed the glass back down again.

"Mind the cups, dear," said Gina, "We've unbreakabled them, but that doesn't keep them from spilling. Besides, it isn't the cup that you're angry with."

"How right you are."

"You really should have known better than to get those two together, though. There's bad blood between them."

This perked me right up, "how so?"

"Well, I thought you'd know." She said with a shocked expression. "Ridgeback used to belong to the Tourdy's… before Rich's granddad lost it to Lucius Malfoy in a game of cards. Granddad Tourdy was a bit of a gambler, you see."

Great, my Mr. Right just became suspect number one.

*

*

*

Well… the plot thins… 

This was a bit longer than the others, and I nearly made it longer still, but had to cut it, or it would have ended up _too_ long.

Okay, thanks to everyone who reviewed. 

Hope I've explained the computer… and yes, I intended to do it this way all along, it really wasn't some lame attempt to cover a plot hole. Can you imagine what would happen to your friendly Dell repair man if he got hold of software that could bring what you wrote into being, for example? I figured she'd need a specialty shop.

What else…

I'm really liking little majesty's _Steep_: 

And I absolutely love the one shot, _It's Not Easy Being a Badass_ by Disco Biscut: 

Alright, folks, that's all I can remember right now… as always, constructive criticisms, wild praise… whatever.


	12. 20 minutes later

20 minutes later, I was marching myself back up the drive to Ridgeback Ranch, with a renewed sense of determination to get to the bottom of this whole thing. 

My mind had been a whirl of activity from the moment Gina'd dropped Rich's family history on me. My thoughts for the better part of the last half hour had gone something like this:

__

So what if Rich had motive? He didn't have opportunity… that first attack happened while he was training me_… but _that_ had been the result of a change in pen assignments on the scheduled exercise board… it could have been done _any _time… but the goats… he didn't involve himself with _them_ at all… but it's not like it would have been difficult for him to open the pen after hours, as Cletis said, it wasn't like the goats were kept under lock and key… but getting on to the grounds after hours in the first place would have been difficult, if the Temporary Services office is warded against that kind of thing, surely Ridgeback is too… but Rich had his whole childhood to find all the secret ways in to this place… but were there even secret ways in?… there were always secret ways in…_

And of course, in the background, repeating over and over again in my head was one more unrelated, yet large and looming question… "what the hell had Malfoy wanted?" this was spoken aloud as I reached the gates, and kicked the ground lightly with the toe of my boot. It was the question that I mulled over as I swung open the twin-dragoned wrought iron gate, and the question I pondered as I pulled it shut behind me… it was the question I was asking myself when the cry of "Miss Granger!" from across the courtyard nearly caused me to jump out of my skin.

I turned to see Cletis closing the considerable distance between us with just a few of his long strides, then stopping in front of me. 

"Yes?" I inquired.

"I'm sure you know that the boss stopped by for you by now."

"Yes… he dropped by the restaurant."

Cletis had the decency to look sheepish, "yeah, sorry about that… but he asked where went… I had to tell him."

I heaved a sigh. "I suppose you did… I know from experience he's not an easy man to refuse."

Cletis chuckled softly, "no, he certainly isn't that. He's persuasive, and powerful, and knows how to use one when the other fails him… anyway, did he tell you what he wanted?"

Funny he should ask… "no. He pretty much contented himself with tainting my water, glaring at my date, and just, in general, being an ass. Usual Malfoy stuff." I shrugged. "didn't happen to say anything to you, did he?" so I could stop worrying about it.

Cletis shook his head, "nope, just asked where you'd gone off to," Cletis paused, and chewed his bottom lip. 

"Cletis, you knew about the… problems… between Malfoy and Rich, didn't you?"

He sniffed "course I did… It's my job to know these things, remember? And incidentally, I think it was a bad move on Rich's part to ask you to lunch…" he gave me a pointed look, "or on yours to accept."

"Why not? I'm a free woman, I just work for Malfoy, I don't let him control my off hours."

Cletis gave me that shrug again, "sure."

I was starting to fume, "what?"

Cletis just gave me a benevolent smile, and a large-handed pat on the head, "nothing, nothing at all."

I couldn't bring myself to glare at him, however much I might want to. It really wasn't Cletis I was mad at, but I couldn't help but speak a bit snappishly, "was there anything else, or can I get back to work?"

"Just one more thing… I just wanted to let you know… because now that you know about Rich's family, well, you might get the wrong idea. I wanted to set you straight. Rich might hate Malfoy, but he's honorable, and he still loves this ranch. He'd never do anything to damage its reputation."

Never do anything… My eyes widened in shock. Cletis… he… "You know."

He grinned, "it's my job, remember? And besides, why else did you think you were assigned here? Like you were so anxious to point out, you have no experience, and it's a dangerous job."

So Cletis knew… and so did Malfoy. That was it. The next time I saw that pointy nosed git, I was going to kill him.

I entered the goat enclosure, to the bleating protests of disgruntled nanny goats, on a search for Elwood Michaels. What I found was four lanky limbs, clothed haphazardly in denim and flanel, dangling over the edge of an empty trough. At least I _hoped_ it was empty. Knowing my luck, the saboteur had struck again, and clamed his first fatality. Drowned in a tub of goat water.

"Mr. Michaels?" I asked timidly.

No response, but I could now just make out the faint buzz-saw sound of snoring.

I gave the offending limbs a glare for the worry, and approached.

"Mr. Michaels?" I repeated, more firmly this time, and with just a hint (okay, maybe more than just a hint) of annoyance. 

His right arm twitched once before he jerked it inside the box, and out of view. 

"Mmm… Five more minutes, Mum," came the mumbled reply, just before the arm found its way back into view, and once again over the side of the trough. 

I came right up to the edge, now, and peered in. inside was a thin, dark haired man, comprised, I'm sure, of nothing but angles, from the tip of his slightly over-large nose to the bottom of his booted feet. And not 'all angles' in the way, say… Malfoy was. I got a bad taste in my mouth just thinking his name after what I'd just found out from Cletis, but I had to admit it… Malfoy was angles in a way as to be… elegant… regal… sophisticated… refined. On Elwood, it just made him look rough-hewn, like his master sculptor had ceased his chiseling just shy of being finished. 

Of course, I mused (in a tone eerily similar to Molly Weasley's) He probably would have had fewer of those unflattering angles, if he'd had a bit more meat on his bones. The boy was little better than a glorified skeleton.

A snoring skeleton.

"Hey!?" I said sharply, accompanying this with a sharp poke to the ribs, "Mr. Michaels… WAKE UP!"

this earned me a bleary eyed squint, and an "eh?"

"Morning," I replied.

A moment later, he nearly toppled the trough trying to get out of it. 

"terribly sorry, ma'am. Must've slipped and fell… hit my head and passed out in there… really… I don't sleep on the job…" he spit out, in a high, slightly panicked voice.

"No?"

"Well, not usually, anyway…" he picked himself up off the ground where he had fallen when the trough had dumped him out, and dusted himself off. 

"Indeed?" 

He gave me a sheepish grin. "Yeah… I wouldn't want it getting back to the boss that I was slacking, after all."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Cletis."

"Not _that_ boss," he said, with a meaningful wink.

"Malfoy?" I asked, incredulous. He just grinned back. "Why would you think I'd tell Malfoy?"

"Well… there's something going on there, right?"

right? Right! "What the hell are you talking about? I wouldn't touch that slimy, manipulative, low-life, bastard, son of a—" 

"Wow… guess I touched a nerve. Okay, so I was wrong, it's just… I mean, half the ranch assumed there was something when he showed up so fast after your accident."

I bit my tongue to keep from snapping back. The truth was, I wasn't really mad at Micheals, how could I be… but by this time, it had been a long day, and I was frustrated and angry, and more than a little confused. And it was giving me a short temper. 

Not a very diplomatic attitude, and since what I really needed was to try and get a bit of information out of Michaels, and do so subtly (just because the Cletis, and the Malfoy knew about me, didn't mean I wanted to let any of the other employees in on the reason why I was here) I thought it best not to vent my frustrations on him.

I continued a moment later in a much more calm, and relaxed voice. "Cletis wanted me to assist with the feedings," I lied. I figured it would be as good a way to start as any.

I didn't expect his dramatic shift in attitude, as the grin turned into a grimace, "Well, then he's sent you to the wrong place, hasn't he?" He said, his voice tight and with a bitter edge. Great… now I've pissed him off. I suspected that I'd put him out of a talking mood, and thought I might have to try less subtle ways to find out what I needed to know. I needn't have worried. Apparently, Michaels was possessed of a genuinely pleasant disposition, and although his next words came out wistful, they held none of the bitterness from before. "I don't actually do the feedings anymore."

"Oh?" 

"Well," he blushed, "I'm sort of… on probation."

"On probation?"

"Yeah… well… it's sort of my second time…" he frowned at the look I gave him, "hey, neither incident was really my fault… more like a combination of bad luck, and bad timing."

"It is my experience that misfortune follows those who court it."

He heaved a sigh, "look, I'm not saying I did nothing, just that I didn't do enough to be considered negligent, that's all… I mean, sure, I told Todd Hastings to put his head in the that yearling's mouth, but I _never_ thought he'd do it!"

I snorted, "who would?"

"Exactly! But try telling that to Cletis. He was livid, and to make matters worse, just when things were starting to turn around… I was working my way back up the ranks, getting back some of my responsibilities, and then someone had to go and change the exercise schedules, and before you know it, I've got the two most temperamental dragons on the ranch in a pen together!"

I'm sorry, what was that? _Michaels_ was the other keeper in the pen that day? But of course he was, because this case couldn't get any more complicated. I gave the man a scrutinizing look, I'd sort of discounted him as a long shot based on his file, and now, having met him, I didn't think him any more a saboteur than I did before. But he _had_ been involved in the last two incidences… no, I was barking up the wrong tree with this one. No guy who sleeps in a trough is a criminal mastermind. There was just no way.

"Listen, if you aren't doing the feedings anymore, perhaps you could point me in the right direction, at least… Cletis _did_ say that I was to help."

"Oh, right… um, I think Rich is taking care of it today… should be in pen 4 right now. You should go find him, before he moves o— hey, are you alright?"

At the thought of going to find Rich, I'd turned a lovely shade of lily (the result of a combination of the indignity of being walked out on, the shock of finding out his possible motive in sabotage, and the impropriety of my actions in dating a possible suspect) "fine," I bit out, tightly. "Just fine."

He didn't say anything, but his look was skeptical as he bid me adieu.

Out of view, I was sure he climbed back into his trough. I on the other hand, took a great deal of the frustration I was feeling out on the ground. A few boot stomps. Didn't really do the trick. I still felt like my head was going to explode. One suspect with motive and means, but no opportunity; one with means and opportunity, but no motive; and another with… well… opportunity, I suppose, but not much more than suspicion. 

This last one was Bo, of course. I wasn't sure if what was going on there was related to the saboteur, but I _was_ positive that _something_ was going on.

I almost wished this was a murder case. They were easier, in some ways… a body could be spelled to reveal cause of death. I still had no idea exactly how this guy was operating. 

I had a feeling this was going to take much longer than the week I'd been given. Typical Malfoy. I supposed I should feel flattered that he thought he could just drop this in my lap, and I'd wave my wand and take care of it, but what I felt was supremely frustrated… oh, and the beginnings of a headache. I supposed I'd just have to work on it in my off hours next week… when I wasn't nursing sore feet from waitressing. 

I know I've said it before, but this time I really meant it. When I saw that stupid little ferret again, he was _dead_!

I spent the rest of my day plotting just _when_ and _how_ I'd go about making that happen, and boy, was I just _itching_ for it.

Okay, so I also did a fair amount of obsessing about what he'd wanted, and imagined the worst (oh, Granger, about next week… I'm sorry, we've decided you should do entertainment after all… you know how to strip, right?) which caused the worst kind of shudders to wrack my body. 

It was a relief when five o'clock rolled around. 

I immediately headed back over to the Dirty Witch. Gina had said I could use her fireplace to floo Mickey, and thinking about my computer meant that I wasn't thinking about Malfoy. What followed was an odd conversation, where Mickey told me that it would be fine for me to bring my laptop over immediately, all in binary. Either that, or he'd just convinced me to switch long distance carriers. That was one language I'd never been fluent in.

I'd had a glass of wine, you know, just to fortify myself, before apparating to his cabin. 

By cabin, what I mean, of course, is leaky shack in the woods. Deep in the fucking woods. Mickey lived on a border, where a magic forest met a mundane one. Why the world's most techno-savvy wizard would choose to live so far away from civilization, I'll never know, but he had access to both the www, and the wwn via satellite uplink, and an enchanted generator kept the whole operation running, so he got on fine, I supposed. Still…

He was waiting for me on the front porch, barefooted, and shirtless, in overalls when I apparated in. These days, Mickey was looking pale enough to make a Malfoy jealous, and like he'd been too busy on his computer to eat, sleep, or wash his hair for several days. In other words, Mickey, _these days_, was looking much like Mickey any other day. 

"Good evening, Mick."

"Hermi," he greeted back, and I treated him to a frustrated scowl.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"Do you?" He asked with sincerity, and I knew it was genuine. That was pure Mickey, too. A genius when it came to motherboards, and disk drives, media storage devices, and other electronic gadgets, but when it came to the little things, he couldn't be bothered. 

I must have told him every time I saw him that I hate to be called by this particular nickname.

"So," he asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "where's the patient?"

I rolled my eyes, and wondered, not for the first time, if _all_ men were perpetually children, or if I'd just lucked out. "It's in my bag, Mick, just let me get it out." So saying, I unslung my laptop case, and reached inside for my notebook, pulling it out and handing it over with a bit of reluctance.

It didn't help my nervous system that he was grinning like a maniac when he took it from me, and his "let us withdraw to the operating room," had an ominous ring to it. Dear God, I'd just given my baby to Dr. Frankenstein. 

"Interesting…" I'm not ashamed to admit that those words caused my heart to leap into my throat, and my hair to stand up on the back of my neck. Trust me, when those words belong to one Mickey Mckay, and he utters them as he has your four thousand dollar laptop in pieces and spread across and honest to God operating table, those are the scariest words you'll ever hear. He adjusted his magnifying glass, and poked another chip with a set of tweezers. "Interesting…" he repeated again, and I clutched the arm of the chair I was sitting in.

"What's so interesting?" Did I really want to know?

"'What's so interesting?'" he echoed, and gave me and 'as if you didn't know' look. "So how'd you do it?"

"Do what?" 

"Oh, don't be coy, Hermi, we both know what… so come on, spill!" he clapped his hands together in a manner that fairly screamed 'teenage girl.' I felt sick.

"I'm not being coy."

He snorted, "fine, you don't want to tell me, that's alright… just don't expect me to fix it if I don't know how it got broken."

"Mick, pretend for a minute that not everyone in the world is heartless enough to experiment on defenseless computer components, and give me the benefit of the doubt. I didn't do anything to it, so tell me what's wrong."

He sighed, "well, it's fried, of course. In the most literal sense… scorch marks and everything. Although, it looks like you let a small rodent chew on the Mainboard before that, but yeah… fried."

"I didn't _let_ anything chew on my comput—I'm sorry, did you say small rodent?"

I was out of my seat in a shot, and pushing Mickey out of the way. I ignored his grumble of "no need to shove," and took up the magnifying glass from where he'd dropped it on the table. A squinting examination of the board revealed that sure enough, the edges were worn with tooth marks. As were many of the chips, and the scorched areas.

So _that's _how the saboteur was doing it… I slammed the magnifying glass back down, hard enough to crack it.

"You're replacing that," Mickey grumbled, as he plopped himself onto the couch. "And I want to know what happened there."

"Gremlins." I choked out. "It was gremlins"

"Gremlins…" I was muttering again a little while later, as I fumbled with my key in the lock.

I supposed that explained a lot of things. It was what had stopped the saboteur from causing any _real_ havoc. I mean, he'd made some trouble to be sure, but not nearly so bad as he could have. Imagine, for example, if he'd just opened the dragon pens. It would have been instant chaos, and the staff at Ridgeback would have been too few to contain _all_ the dragons. It was almost a sure thing that there'd be at least a good half-dozen of the blighters terrorizing the countryside by nightfall, if that ever happened. I'd just assumed that the saboteur never did it, because he'd be too close to the carnage when it broke. Now my possibilities opened up.

It could literally be anyone.

And yes, I was still sure there was a person behind this. Gremlins were known for being trouble makers, and I was no expert on them, for sure, but I did know enough about the little bastards to know that they thrived on gadgets, making minced meat of technical items was their M.O. A whole troupe of gremlins didn't just up and move to what was probably the most low-tech establishment in England. And even if they did… they wouldn't _stay_ there.

I pushed open the door, and dropped my empty case onto the floor (I'd left my computer with Mickey for extensive surgery… he was positive he could save it, and I figure he couldn't possible fuck it up any worse than it was) and leaned against the door as I shut it.

What a day.

"Chrissake, Granger, did you _walk_ home?"

And apparently, it wasn't over yet.

My head snapped up to meet gray eyes, that peered at me over the back of the couch, where Draco Malfoy was stretched out languidly. I worked my mouth silently, for moment, to stunned to even demand that he leave.

Here was my chance. I'd been dying to have a swing at him all day, and here he was, begging for it. I could launch myself at him, throttle him until he stopped twitching, and claim that he'd broken in and attacked me. I was sure I'd get away with it. 

I wanted to take him by the primly pressed collar of his expensive silk robes and shake him until my arms gave out, or his neck snapped.

What I did, once I finally got my throat working was to tell him to "get your filthy shoes off the couch."

"I really don't see what the problem is, I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that this couch is hideous," but he complied… well, sort of. He complied with the literal meaning, kicking his shoes off, and wriggling his socked toes. He didn't comply with the implied meaning, which was 'get your shoes off my couch, and your ass out my front door,' but I was sure by the smirk it wasn't because he hadn't understood it. "And it's damaged," he continued to drawl, "seriously Granger, I never pegged you as a smoker."

"I'm not. And don't take your shoes off… it implies that you're staying."

"I am. And who's the smoker?"

It was useless. I groaned, and moved myself out of the doorway to sit across from my lounging boss, in the armchair. 

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"There's plenty of time for that, no need to skip polite conversation."

"Malfoy, nothing about you is polite."

He grinned, but his eyes were icy, "you didn't answer my question."

"That's because it's none of your business," I shrieked in exasperation.

"Not either of your platonic playmates, Potter and Weasley, I gather… and ex-boyfriend?"

I hadn't even realized I was drawing my wand, until it was out, and by that time, Malfoy was kneeling before me on he floor, one strong hand curled around my wand arm, while the other rested just above my knee. I was suddenly, and intensely aware of the way his nearness had set my pulse racing. He was so close I could _smell_ him. Spicy, like cinnamon and nutmeg. 

God, I didn't want to smell him! 

I tried to pull back, but he just tightened his grip on my knee, causing me to squeak (in the most dignified way, I assure you).

"Hey, now, where do you think you're going? Hm?"

"Come on, Malfoy," I said, dropping my head to hide the blush I could already feel creeping into my face, "I'm not going to hex you, alright… just let me go."

I heard the rustle of his robes, as he shifted to a standing position without relinquishing his hold. "Granger," he said roughly. I looked up, to find myself face to face with him as he leaned over, "see that you don't."

And just like that, he withdrew, taking his intoxicating scent with him. I was relieved, and disappointed, and disgusted with myself all at once, and so my inquiry of "you're business here?" came out a bit shaky.

"My assistant needs lessons."

"Forget it, Malfoy, abstract thought is one of those things you either have, or you don't. Not even _I_ can hope to teach it to that Playboy Bunny posing as an assistant."

"You are a laugh a minute, aren't you, Granger?" he sneered, "actually, she's taking dancing lessons, Tuesdays and Saturdays. The problem is, I've got some paperwork that needs to be _done_ by Saturday, so that I can look over it on Sunday, so that I can have it committed to memory by Monday."

"And this effects me, how?"

He gave me a devilish grin… it was the sort of grin I'm sure got him his way a lot, and quirked an eyebrow. "You know, I do pay overtime on weekends… it'd come a long way to buying you a new couch."

I was not so easily manipulated. "Forget it, I've already got plans."

"Break them." He left no room for argument.

"God, you're selfish."

"Is it selfish to know what you want, and take it?"

"Yes, Malfoy, that's what 'selfish' means."

"In that case," he said, folding his hands behind his head, and giving me a self-satisfied smirk, "consider me the most selfish man in England."

"I already do."

"But you'll do it?"

"No, you self-centered prat, this may come as a shock, but the sun does not rise and set for you. I will _not_ be canceling my plans, and let me add, Mr. Malfoy, that you have a lot of nerve coming in here and making demands of _me_ when you put me in such a dangerous position without even so much as a 'head's up, Granger.'" 

"Ridgeback?"

"Yes, Ridgeback… when were you going to tell me that you knew?"

"When were _you_ going to tell _me_ that you did?"

"I… Well… Malfoy, that's different!"

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is… look, I didn't put you in any physical danger by not telling you, did I?"

"No, but then again, neither were you. I gave Cletis specific instructions on how you were to be treated, and I thought you'd figure it out on your own soon enough."

"And meanwhile, you could have a bit of a laugh at my expense?" He shrugged, "I'm sure you know that my lack of knowledge almost cost me my life!"

"The key word in that statement being 'almost.' I believe the Dragonhide suit _I_ gave you saved your life, didn't it?" He cocked his head to one side, "incidentally, you wouldn't happen to be wearing it under those shapeless robes again?"

I blushed again… I couldn't help it, especially since I was… I had been all week. 

"No."

He gave me a grin that said plainly that he didn't believe it.

"So… Saturday?"

"No!"

"I could call in that favor… you owe me, remember? For not handing you over to the authorities."

"You could, but you won't… you want to hold that over my head as long as possible, just to make me sweat."

He stood, flicking his wand, and magicking his shoes back onto his feet. "You think you know me so well, don't you Granger? Well, you're right, I'm not going to call in my favor now, but I'm not going to hold it over your head forever. I have something particular in mind for that favor, and now isn't the time for me to ask it…" another flick of his wand, and his cloak came flying off the coat hangar, and settled around his shoulders, "and if you refuse to work Saturday, I'll just find someone who will." He turned his back to me, and headed for the door. 

I fought back the sudden, inexplicable urge to stop him from leaving, but as his hand closed on the door knob, I shot out of my seat. 

"Malfoy," it came out strangled, and odd sounding even to my ears.

He paused for a moment, then cast a sly glance over his shoulder, "good evening, Granger." And with that, he was gone.

"Good riddance!" I shouted, to the closed door, and tried to make myself believe it. 

Blame it on the midterms… I'm really sorry that this chapter was so long in coming, and you'd think that for the extra THREE WEEK wait, I'd have given you guys something spectacular, but I'd have to say this chapter certainly wasn't that. It was passable, though, and it was all I could eak out with my creative juices being poured into school. 

More fics that aren't getting the play they deserve:

Madame plot bunnie's _pawn_ is a fic that shows definite promise

Paradoxical's one shot, _devil's prayer_, 

Neuri's _Something Old_ is another one shot. Very well written, and humorous as well as touching. Definitely worth a look to everyone who missed it the first time

On the darker (and definitely R-rated side) there's Libbs _twisted obsession_. 

There were quite a few others, but I can't find them, and I've developed a nasty habit of not writing them down…

Plastraa, thanks for nagging (although, it wasn't really nagging) and anyone who hasn't read _Draco's Inheritance _yet needs read it right now. Funny beyond belief…

Of course, I'm still a big advocate of Gravidy's _God of the Lost_, and I'm more impressed with it every time I read it, and I still like Phantasm's the _Secret Keeper_, even if she's not updating (I don't really have any room to talk)

Alright, hopefully, I'll be able to get another chapter out soon… I've only got one major project on the horizon, so it's do-able. 

Feedback of all sorts is welcomed with open arms!

G'night folks.

What the hell was happening to me, I wondered. And would I be able to tell Harry and Ron about it tonight?


	13. I hate mornings

God… I'm so sorry… I don't know what took me so long with this, I just couldn't get it out… anyway, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter… and apologize again. And apologize again… In fact, can't seem to apologize enough.

Anyway, without further ado… 

When I apparated into the Leaky Cauldron that evening, I was in a very foul mood. The day had been going poorly enough, thank you very much, _without_ my coming home to find Malfoy reclining on my couch, smirk already plastered on his face. 

And what he'd said… "I have something particular in mind of that favor…" God… that sent shivers up my spine, and not in the good way. At least I'd hoped it wasn't in the good way. I'd spent the next few hours oscillating between the certainty that, whatever it was he had in store for me, I wouldn't enjoy it, and the pronounced fear that I _would_. 

I blamed my current romantic dry spell for that thought, and quickly tried to block it from my mind.

Which hadn't worked out as well as I'd hoped, and I'd become steadily more irritated as the evening wore on, because Draco Malfoy had succeeded in doing the one thing I hadn't thought possible: he'd ruined my shower… I mean, how was I supposed to enjoy it if every time I closed my eyes I saw those slender, adept hands.

I could have killed him for that.

And now that irritation had followed me like a storm cloud, threatening all those around me with lightning. 

As I slid into the seat the boys had left opened for me, Ron and Harry exchanged a glance that seemed to say 'do you want to say it, or should I?'

Ron apparently won (or lost?) since he spoke up first. "Alright, what'd he do?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"Don't 'hm' us, Hermoine Granger, you know perfectly well who we are talking about," Harry said.

I just gave him a look.

"Malfoy," Ron prompted when I didn't speak up. "He's the only person I've ever seen get you so worked up… well, except for Magnus, but he sort of had to cheat on you to get you this mad."

Ouch. "Real sensitive, Ron," I grumbled.

He had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, 'Moine, I didn't mean it like that."

I closed my eyes, and sighed. "I know."

"It's just, you know, _NO ONE_ gets under your skin like Malfoy. The blighter practically raises irritation to an art form. I don't think I've _ever_ come closer to murder than when we were at school together."

And I couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"How right you are, Ronald Weasly, how right you are."

He and Harry grinned at each other, satisfied that they'd dispelled my frustration.

"Now," said Harry, "that we have you smiling again, care to tell us what had you so riled up in the first place"

"Not right now guys," I said, catching the waitresses eye, and signaling for a double, "allow me to fortify myself first."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded, and Ron had to agree.

"In the meantime, how are things going with you two?" I asked. "Harry, how are you and Cho getting on these days?" at the words 'Cho' and 'getting on,' he paled visibly, and gave me a huge (fake) smile.

"Fantastic," he lied through his teeth, "never better. Why just the other day, we were talking, and…" here he trailed off, as it had become obvious that Ron and I were not to be convinced. He sighed, "good God, who am I fooling? Certainly not you two. Why do I bother trying…"

"I drew my brows together in a frown, "I'm sorry, Harry… I hadn't realized the two of you were having difficulties. You…" my voice faltered, "you aren't breaking up, are you?" here I felt the prick of tears in my eyes, and some part of me knew how selfish it was for me to want to cry… it was just that Harry and Cho were the most lovey-dovey couple I'd ever seen. If they couldn't stay together, what chance did the rest of us mere mortals have?

I needn't have worried, however, for at the mere mention of separation, Harry choked on his glass of water, and sputtered a shocked "Breaking up!?"

He looked nearly frantic, "I couldn't… I mean, I'd never… I mean, I love her too much, and I know it isn't really her fault, and …"

"Harry," Ron cut in sharply, effectively silencing our friend. Harry's mouth closed with a snap. "Sorry, mate, but you were getting a bit carried away there." 

I nodded in agreement, before reaching out, and placing my hand on top of his. "Come on now Harry, tell us exactly what is wrong."

"The woman," he said, dropping his head, and resting his forehead on the table, "Is a bloody _animal_."

"Excuse me?" Ron and I asked simultaneously.

"Ever since we decided to have a baby, she's been all over me… just wont leave me alone. Wednesdays are the worst, of course, but it's all the time, really." Amazing… I was relatively sure Harry had just turned the exact shade of a strawberry Skittle, but he continued on despite himself. "And we never get to take our time anymore… sex used to be about tenderness… now it's like bootcamp.

Ron snorted.

"Come on," Harry said with a frown. "This isn't funny."

"We should all have your problems, Harry, old boy." Ron said, between chuckles. "Paige and I have yet to get past the chaste kiss goodnight… not that I'm terribly worried about it," he added quickly, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks, "it's just sort of… been a while."

At this point, both their gazes slid to me, as if they expected me to say something. "Well, don't expect me to add anything to this conversation… at least Ron's getting kisses… ever since I left Magnus, my love-life is near non-existent."

"You're a resilient girl," Harry said, with an uncomfortable grin, "I'm sure you've already started bouncing back from that."

"Well… there was _someone_ I was interested in, but I can't really do anything about it."

"Oh?" Ron asked, leaning over the table in interest.

"Well, yes, you see… he's sort of a…"

"Your drink, Miss." The waitress said, placing my glass on the table in front of me before floating off to take another order.

I took up the cup gratefully, and sipped it, rolling the scotch around on my tongue. There was something wonderful about going where they knew you, where you were familiar… where they knew your drink. I pondered the simple joys in life as I swallowed, and felt the heat trail down my esophagus and into the pit of my stomach. Another sip, and I felt that heat spread out to the rest of my body.

"Hermoine?" came Ron's voice, after a moment.

"Huh? Oh… sorry… where was I?"

"You're current love interest was sort of… a…" Harry prompted.

Oh, that was right, I was telling them about Rich.

"Actually, this is perfect timing, since it has something to do with what had me so frustrated earlier." I cleared my throat loudly, and signaled the waitress to bring me another before I continued. "You see, that accident on Monday wasn't an accident."

"Not an accident?" whispered Harry.

"Don't be ridiculous, 'Mione… I mean, why would anyone want to kill you?"

"Not _me_ Ron, and probably not _kill_ either. I mean, maybe kill, but killing isn't the ultimate goal. There's been a rash of accidents at the Ranch lately, though, and while none of them has resulted in a fatality yet, it certainly could. The why of it, however is still a little bit unclear, and until it is, everyone's a suspect."

"Even your possible Mr. Right?" Harry asked.

"Especially him. That's why it won't work out. I can't date a _suspect_!"

"Well, I mean, like you said, it could be anyone, right?" Ron asked, "I mean all know Malfoy's a jerk… he has enough enemies. Not to mention all those Dragon right's group… Charlie was just telling me the other day about how they received a threat from 'Scale for a Scale' demanding the release of a killer Horntail they'd taken into custody the other day. These guys are crazy… imagine, demanding they release a killer dragon!"

I shook my head, "No, Ron. I found out today that the whole site is infested with Gremlins."

"Gremlins," Harry piped up, "in a Dragon Keep?"

"Placed there by the saboteur, obviously. I doubt that a group advocating the rights of one magical creature, would exploit another… no, this is someone with a grudge. Either, like you've suggested, one against Malfoy, or one against the farm itself…"

"So, what's lover-boy done to incriminate himself?" Harry asked.

"His family used to own Ridgeback, before the Malfoy's cheated them out of it. There's some very bad blood between those two. My god, at lunch today…"

"You had _lunch_ with them?" 

"No, Ron… well, not exactly. I was having lunch with Rich—" 

"Rich?"

"Mr. Right."

"Ah… go on…"

"I was having lunch with Rich, and when he left for the lavatory, Malfoy showed up, and made a complete ass of himself" at this point Ron felt the need to mutter 'as usual' under his breath, and I had to agree, "and when Rich came back… well, it wasn't pretty. They both stormed off, and it was the waitress who finally told me about Rich's family."

"Well, I suppose, that explains the mood," Harry said.

"No, it doesn't even begin to explain it…" and I told them, starting with what happened Tuesday, after Harry left my apartment, and ending with Malfoy on my couch exactly what had me so worked up.

At some point in the evening, the waitress returned to fill my glass, and I had her leave the bottle.

The last thing I remembered was the concerned look on Ron's face when he told me I'd better slow down. 

Well, actually, the last thing I remembered was telling Ron to bugger off… and then… 

Nothing…

"Gr…ger…" the noise reached my ears as if I were sitting under 10 feet of water. It wasn't often that I got the chance to indulge in satin sheets, however, and I could feel that I was between them now. I wasn't about to leave them, so I did the only sensible thing. I ignored the noise.

"Ran…er…" it came again, more annoyed. But even the sharp slap that accompanied it this time wasn't inducement to stir.

It must have done something for my hearing, though, because the next time, I heard "Granger!" loud and clear.

Go away.

It wasn't until the voice came a fourth time, lower, nearly a growl, and was followed by a slow two fingered caress along my jawline that I actually moved. I had a sudden acute longing to throw my arms around masculine shoulders, bury my fingers in moonlight hair… press my lips to warm, pale skin.

The desire caused me to sit up, screaming.

I became aware of two things immediately. Number one being that the voice belonged to one Draco Malfoy. I knew this, because when I sat up, my forehead came into sharp contact with his. And number two…

"Ow," he grumbled, sitting down on the bed, next to me, and rubbing his head. "Christ, Granger, watch where you're…"

"Malfoy… where are my clothes." There were a lot of questions floating around in my head, like how the hell did I end up in a guest room in Malfoy Manor to begin with, but this one took precedence over all others.

De ja vous… wasn't I in this same position just a few days ago? Easy… calm down… relax. He didn't take advantage of you then, he hasn't now… I hope.

He grinned suggestively at me, and I couldn't help but notice that in his loosely tied black terry cloth bathrobe… his hair still damp from his shower… the pale skin of his throat revealed, that he looked almost charming. Well, he would have, if he'd been anyone other than who he was. Which he wasn't. On Draco Malfoy, it just made me suspicious, and paranoid.

Oh God, I was blushing, and I was sure he could see it, not just across my face, but on my shoulders, and my…

BLOODY HELL!

With out any word of warning, I grabbed the edge of the sheet, and gave it a vicious tug, unseating Malfoy, and dumping him on the floor. (Ah… like I said… it was the little things… ) I wrapped the sheet around me tightly, and threw the excess over my shoulder. 

I most certainly did _not_ sneak a glance at Malfoy as he righted himself, and readjusted the tie on his robe.

That was why it came as such a shock when he took my chin in his hand, and turned me to face him. His robe had fallen slightly open, the 'V' dipping almost to his navel, but I kept my eyes firmly planted on his. I could feel that blush start creeping over me again, though.

"That," he growled, in a voice that I suppose _some_ witches would find sexy, "was uncalled for."

"I needed the sheet," I replied huffily, pulling out of his grip.

He raise on skeptical eyebrow.

"Would you rather I just lay around exposed?"

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

He would. "You are disgusting." I informed him.

"I try."

"And you didn't answer my question."

"Well, _I _ certainly don't see anything wrong if you want to expose—"

"Not _that _question!"

It was around this time that I realized the pounding in my head had nothing to do with the knock it had received earlier.

"M… Malfoy…" I whispered shakily, grabbing his shoulder for support as I started to heave.

Hungover. Again.

Whatever I may say about Malfoy, the man does have reflexes as quick as the coiled snake that was his house's namesake. Not to mention nerves of steel. He had the waste basket under my nose, and was holding my hair with his freehand just in the nick of time.

Afterward, he placed the basket down on the floor and snapped his fingers. Instantly it disappeared. House elves. I was too worn out to be properly outraged.

Then he was wiping my mouth with a handkerchief, and pressing something into my hand.

"When you showed up here last night and started pounding the gates, soaked to the skin, stone drunk, and demanding retribution, I thought you might not be able to make it into work today." He said amusedly. "Cletis suggested this."

I glanced down at the cup he'd just pressed into my hand. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Depends on what you think it is." He said with a shrug. "Cletis apparently got the recipe off of one of the Weasley brats"

I could have kissed him at that moment. 

Instead I downed the familiar mixture of tomato, tobasco, and lemon. 

"Now be a good girl, and get showered," he said, turning to leave. "If you're late," he called back over his shoulder, "I'll doc your pay."

"Wait!" I called to his retreating back. "My clothes… where are they?"

"Being laundered." He tossed over his shoulder, "I'll have something laid out for you."

"Um… Malfoy, you didn't…"

He was at the door now, but he turned and grinned. "I most certainly did."

It was an overreaction, I know. I just couldn't help it. Here, I'd thought he was somewhat of a gentleman, I mean, he was still an ass, but at least I didn't think he was the type to take advantage of an unconscious woman. It sent me into a rage. Especially since that woman was me.

"Malfoy!" I shrieked, and aimed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face, and suddenly he wasn't so playful anymore. Now he looked quite irritated. "Oh come off it, Granger. You think I did it for fun? A bit of amusement maybe?" he ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. "You were soaked, if I didn't get you out of those clothes, you were going to be ill.

"And let me just add, Miss Granger, that I have plenty of _willing_ partners. I have no need to take advantage of some stupid bint who shows up at my doorstep too bloody drunk to walk a straight line, let alone put up a fight."

"I didn't ask you to help me."

"No, what you asked is that I die a slow painful death, which I have no intention of doing. Now get showered, get dressed, and get the hell out of my Manor."

"How about I just leave now?!" I screamed, and reached around for my wand.

"Don't bother looking for it, I took it away from you last night so you wouldn't try to apparate. You'll get it back when you can be civil."

"Bite me."

He raised an eyebrow at me, then left, slamming the door behind him.

"This is, by far, the worst morning I've ever had."

Well, once again, sorry guys… I skipped school today to work on this, so I hope that's some sort of consolation. Anyway, I've got to leave for work, so I don't have time to put in new suggestions, just want to encourage everyone to read Plastraa's stories… both of them, and… argh… can't think of any other ones off the top of my head… 

Later guys.


	14. knickers

The note read: 

Enjoy, Granger.

D.M.

The words were chilling enough on their own, but when they came pinned to the raciest pair of black knickers I'd _never_ wear, well… they became downright sinister.

I wrapped what appeared to be a standard Malfoy Family Issue (complete with monogram) black bathrobe around my dripping form, and snorted disgustedly at the offending undergarments. 

That jackass! It was just like that arrogant, thick-skulled git to do something like this. I bet he thought it was pretty funny, too. He'd probably thought, 'hey, I know! Let's really embarrass that prude, Granger, and give her some sexy underwear, and watch her blush like mad. That ought to annoy the living daylights out of her.' I bet he was somewhere _right now_ laughing it up.

It was the thought of Malfoy doubled over in amusement, while contemplating the contents of my robes that galvanized me into action. 

I took up the offending undergarment, and stormed out of the room. I was going to find that low-life piece of rat dung, and shove these down his throat… right before I cut it, that is.

Now, I'd studied schematics of Malfoy Manor before. As a member of the team that had taken Lucius into custody, I'd had to commit large portions of it to memory. But three steps out the door, it became obvious that the current Lord of the Manor had done a bit of remodeling. I was promptly lost, and any attempts to retrace my steps only managed to further entrench myself within this labyrinth. I wondered briefly if the Manor had been spelled to confused strangers, and just as quickly dismissed the idea. The sheer number of hallways and door was staggering. Malfoy didn't need any sort of spell to confuse anyone.

Malfoy had already given me permission… if only I had my wand, I could dissapparate out of this nightmare.

I did the next best thing.

"Mal_foy_!" I yelled, the murder in my voice causing it to reverberate through the walls, and while I couldn't be positive it had reached every corner of the house, I wouldn't have been at all surprised if it had.

"What is it, Granger?" came his amused voice from behind me.

"What is it! _What is it_!" I shrieked, whirling to face him, and brandishing the knickers like a weapon. "That _is _the question Malfoy. What the blood hell is this!"

he ran one hand through his shower-dampened hair, shoving the other into the pocket of his slacks, and gave me a mischievous grin. "Those," he drawled amusedly, "look like knickers to me." He continued in a tone I recognized (since it usually issued from my mouth) as informatory, "generally, they go between ones bottom and their trousers. I've never heard of them being used effectively as weapons, but bonus points for imagination, Granger." 

He was luckier than he knew that I was wandless at the moment.

"Gee, thanks for the lesson, Professor Malfoy, but that isn't what I meant, and you know it.!" I balled the underwear into a fist, and poked him in the chest with my finger.

Hard.

"Ow!" hissed, so did it one more time, enjoying the way his face twisted into one of annoyance.

"Bet you think it's pretty funny, don't you?" I poked him again for emphasis, "well, I'm tired of it!" poke "this is harassment, Malfoy," poke "and I," poke "am not," poke "going to," poke "_stand for it_!" poke! poke! POKE!

"Ow," He growled, again, and seized one of my wrists in either of his hands, holding them over my head where they would be of no further threat to him. "Geeze, Granger," his tone was frustrated, "like I would even _want_ to harass you! Think about it, how would you have reacted if I _hadn't_ supplied you with proper undergarments?"

"I'd hardly call those _proper._" I pointed out.

He released both of my hand at once, shoving my back roughly. "Oh, come on, I'm not sure what impression you have of me, but I'm not in the habit of keeping a supply of ladies undergarments here."

"You obviously have some selection," I shot back, throwing the knickers into his face.

"_These_," he replied, "were a present for my assistant, and cost me quite a few galleons, I might add, so you should feel privileged that I was willing to waste them on the likes of _you_."

His voice dripped with that aristocratic arrogance of his, and I couldn't decide what made me angrier, the fact that the knickers had originally been intended for his new toy (god, _what _was her name again? Kitty or Kandy, or Kiki) or the fact that he actually had the gall to say I should be _thankful_ to him with that superior tone in his voice.

Oh, yes, he was _very_ lucky I didn't have my wand.

And for god sakes, what was he doing buying the woman intimate apparel already… of course, I knew what he was doing… what he'd done… with me waiting to speak with him, no less… _twice_!

"What's the occasion, Malfoy," came my sneering cut, "one week anniversary of the first time she gave you a blow job?"

And then he grinned at me, his whole demeanor shifting once again, from frustrated to… almost flirtatious, and I was so shocked by the shift in tactics that I could only stand there, dumbstruck, as he reached out one hand to grab mine, pressing the underwear back into my palm. "My, what a dirty mind you have, Granger."

I sputtered a moment before I was able to reply, but once again, I could depend on blind rage to get me through these difficult moments. "Oh, shut up! I don't care what the excuse is for these, I'm not wearing them!"

He shrugged, and turned to walk off. "Suit yourself," he tossed back over his shoulder, as he strode down the hall, "but I think the thought of you, as the muggles put it, 'going comando' is going to be more enjoyable for me than it is for you."

"Bugger off, Malfoy!" I shrieked, as I blushed hotly.

He just snickered and kept walking.

"Um… Malfoy… wait." My voice was a bit smaller now, a bit more unsure.

That stopped him in his tracks. Predators like him can always sense vulnerability.

"Yes?" he drawled, peering at me over his shoulder.

"Um… well… see, the thing is…"

"Out with it, Granger."

"I'm lost."

His grin stretched from ear to ear. "Damn, I suppose this means _no_ buggery? Follow me, then, I'll take you to the kitchens for some breakfast, and see that your wand is returned to you"

With a little persuasion, Malfoy had agreed to accompany me back to my room first, and even waited outside the door for me to change before accompanying me to the kitchens. Astonishingly enough, we managed to breakfast together without incident, and even more astonishingly, as the meal ended, he delivered my wand, without prompting, as promised. 

It was rare that a Malfoy did _anything_ as promised, and I was quite tempted to mark my calendar. 

I was still thinking on it when I was assisting Rich (who'd apparently taken Cletis' advice, and was treating me in a strictly professional manner… bugger) as he administered a Dragon Pox vaccine to the hatchlings.

Working with the hatchlings, as a rule, is a pretty safe job. None of them are born with the ability to breath fire, for the first few weeks at least, they're wobbly and unsure, and even though they have nasty tempers, they generally lack the means to act upon their destructive desires. All dragons, however, are born with the ability to bite. Quite well, I might add, and bit I was. My mind had wandered as I'd held the Welsh Green whelp, and before I knew it, the little bastard had taken a chunk clean off my arm.

"Oh!" exclaimed Rich, "That's no good."

"I'm fine," I assured him, "just need to apply a bandage, and it'll be good as new."

"He really got you good," Rich said in concern, putting the syringe down, and pulling my arm closer to get a better look. "We should probably take care of this right away," he added, with a gentle smile.

He led me out the door, and down the hall, into the first aid station, and cleaned the cut with a cotton swab, and a potion I couldn't identify, but which bubbled not unpleasantly, and tickled my skin, and had the faint scent of rosemary.

I watched him dress the wound under lowered lids and wavered… tomorrow I was going out, and originally, I'd intended to ask him to come with me, but… now he was a suspect. But, then again, Cletis had told me he was above suspicion… and I planned to consume large quantities of alcohol at the party, and I hated to think what had happened last time I drank unchaperoned. At least this time we could go together to beat on Malfoy's gate and demand retribution. 

No one was above suspicion.

Damn.

"Hey, Miss Granger, are you alright? You seem a bit dazed."

"I'm fine," I assured him.

"Are you positive?" I nodded, and he gave me a skeptical look, "alright, I'm going back then, I've still got the finish the immunizations. But why don't you stay here, and rest for a spell… I'll get Bo to help me finish up, and then I'll come see how you're feeling."

"I'm fine, I said," I assured him, and started to walk out.

His hand on my shoulder stopped me, and he picked me up and sat me down on the examination table in the middle of the room. 

"No you don't, fine or not, you just stay here and relax… I'll be back in a bit to give you a better examination." His tone was playful, as he abandoned the professional attitude he'd had with me all day. He seemed to realize it too, because he frowned suddenly, and mumbled on his way out the door, "on second thought, I'd better send Cletis to look at it." And then he was gone.

Damn again.

Well, orders or no, (and I hated to sound like a 5-year-old, but…) he wasn't the boss of me, (unfortunately, that title belonged to the King of Selfish Prats) and I gave him only ten seconds to get down the hall before I hopped off the table, and headed out the door.

I wasn't sure where I was going… to snoop a bit, I supposed, but luck was with me. As I made my way down the hall, I passed a door that I'd never seen opened… the one door that, with the exception of Wednesday morning was almost always either locked or occupied. Now, however it stood ajar, and there was no one in sight. 

I slipped in to Cletis' office, and smiled. 

There was a file cabinet, and the information in there had to be 100 times more indepth than the files we had at Temp Services. I glanced over my shoulder once more, just to make sure no one was coming, then made my way over, pulling the drawer open, and began thumbing through the files.

Five files caught my eye, and I took them all. One was on Cletis himself, one on Boregard Knightshade, one on Michaels, one on Rich Tourdy, and the final one, the one that really stuck out, on a Serena Giranium. I'd looked over Tracy's files several times… hell, I'd practically committed them to memory. According to Temporary Services, Serena Giranium was not an employee of Ridgeback Ranch.

Okay… I'm really sorry this took so long guys. It was inexcusable. And to think you waited all that time for such a short chapter… sorry, I really am, but this seemed like the best place to end it. 

The next chapter should be up in a few days, though I've learned my lesson, and wont be making any promises beyond that it _will_ be up, eventually. 

I _am_ working on it, but I've just been having the devils own time making headway… feels like I'm just treading water… anyway, any suggestions you guys have for improvements is welcomed and encouraged, and have a happy new year, everyone!


	15. some much needed therapy

"So, tell me about these dreams you've been having."

"Not 'dreams,'" I protested. "Dream. Singular. And I haven't 'been having' it either. Just one dream. Just one time, alright? And it wasn't even that big a deal. Why I hardly think about it at all. I mean, it isn't as though I were _fixated_ on it, or something…"

"Really? Well, then, why are you here, Miss Granger?"

That was a very good question. One that I had been asking myself for the last fifteen minutes.

'Here' was the plush gray couch near the window of the offices of one Dr. Nancy Calloway, Ph.D. muggle psycho-analyst, and, from what I'd deduced in the last quarter hour, complete quack. So much so that I had nearly forgotten why I initially came here, and was about two seconds from grabbing my coat, and storming out.

But for course there was a world of difference between 'nearly forgotten,' and 'completely forgotten.' The fact of the matter was that the events of this last week had left me feeling… distracted, to say the least. And I was more than a little disturbed at the form that distraction had taken. After this morning, the last thing I wanted to do was analyze that bloody dream. I was much more interested in forgetting it.

And there had to be something wrong with any psychoanalyst that took walk-ins.

"Come on, Miss Granger. Relax. Lay back down, and tell my what's troubling you."

"Thanks anyway, but I think I've had just about enough therapy."

"Very well, it's your call. But make sure to make a second appointment on your way out."

"Second appointment!" I stared, open mouthed, and shocked. Did she perhaps not understand the situation? I decided I'd better inform her. "I don't think so. You've helped me so much today, that I don't think a second visit will be necessary."

Dr. Calloway raised too-perfectly groomed eyebrows at me, and regarded me over her horn-rimmed glasses. "Is that so?"

"I'm sorry, I do realize that repeat business is your bread and butter, but…"

Her nostrils flared "Miss Granger, are you suggesting…"

"I most certainly am!"

She huffed, then sighed. "I can see why he cheated on you."

The air left my body in a great 'whoosh,' and I had to double over at the feeling of being punched in the stomach. "W-what did you say?" I croaked out, when I got my breath back.

"Your boyfriend… you really do seem like such a well put together person. Quick witted, smart, resourceful… and yet… I think it's obvious that your anger and sarcasm mask a hurt and fear."

"How did you—"

"Tell me about this dream."

"Fine. Alright… well, earlier this week I was involved in an accident. I was knocked unconscious, and before I came to, I had… well…" I blushed. I couldn't help myself. "I had a dream of a very personal nature, involving my boss… except… I really do hate him."

"hm…"

"You see, before he was my boss, we were in professions that put us at odds. And before that, we were in boarding school together, and he was always a bit of a snob and a terror. And to say this dream came as a shock… well…" I paused, then asked in a much smaller voice, "how did you know about my break-up?"

She smiled, and for a second, I thought she'd say something like 'trade secret' and refuse to tell me. "I guessed."

"You… you guessed!"

"Well, it was an educated one, to be sure. There was the erotic dream, which indicates a lack of sexual… um… release, the bitterness in your eyes…"

"But, surely, you don't think I desire my employer!"

"I didn't say that. Dreams are economists. Most likely you were using the dream to express two different ideas. The fact that it was erotic in nature suggests a desire for companionship, and the fact that it featured your boss indicates a change in your feelings toward him. Had he done something specific to earn your trust?"

I thought back to the horror that had been the last to weeks in Malfoy's employ. "No… not… well, the accident… something he gave me saved my life."

"There, so, you want someone, and you trust your boss… two totally un-related ideas."

"You're sure?"

"Most likely."

I sighed in relief, and turned to the window… and almost fell off the couch. Sitting on the ledge, near smirking, with a piece of parchment curled in his talons was Omen.

I left the office in a whirl, without even stopping at the receptionist's desk to make an appointment for the follow up. As quickly as my legs could carry me, I was out the door, and ducked into the alley, and half a moment later, Omen's talons were digging into my arm.

He regarded me for a moment, his head cocked to the side, beak open in a avian grin, eyes dancing in amusement.

"What's so funny, bird-brain?" I asked testily, taking the parchment he offered. 

I began to unfold it, but stopped half way through, biting my lip. 

"How much of that did you hear?"

His eyes flashed green.

"Could you… could you please not tell your master about this? I'd consider it a personal favor"

he snapped his beak twice, as if to say 'now who could I tell with these vocal chords?' but he didn't fool me for a second.

__

Granger,

I'll return your clothes to you tonight, around eight. The question is: 'your place, or mine?'

D.M.

'your place, or mine?' my eyes stuck on those word, and I stood, riveted to the spot… _your place or mine_, written in his flowing script, the curve of the words conjuring up the delicious sounds of his voice. Caressing each syllable. I imagined his tongue, stroking across the surfaces of the sounds, dipping into the hollows of the breaths between words, delving…

Omen chose just moment, to give a shrill, impatient call, and I could have kissed the bird for pulling me out of my reverie… there was no telling where that train of thought had been headed, and I was rather glad it was called back to the station.

No. No, this had to stop. Since when did I wax poetic about one of Malfoy's rude little notes?

Since the stupid dream? No, but it had certainly opened the door for it.

And about that dream, rationally explained or not, it had still been damned disturbing. God, I was tired of thinking about it!

"He wants a reply, does he?" I took my wand from where it was tucked, under my jacket, in the waist band of my jeans, and muttered an inking spell. "I'll give him a reply," I muttered, turning the parchment over against a wall, and scrawling something on the back of it. 

__

Malfoy,

Listen, you slimy little toad, I have no intention of ever setting foot inside your manner again! And as for dropping by my flat, I would have to advise against it, as I would be well within my rights to hex you into a not-so-peaceful oblivion. 

No, I think I'll just swing by your office later, I have something to discuss with you anyway.

H. Granger

"Here," I informed the bird, stretching the paper toward him, "take this to your master… and, uh, remember, personal favor…"

He may have winked, as he took off, but I couldn't be sure of that.

I watched him disappear into the clouds, and heaved a sigh. 

100 pound that little 53 minute session had cost me, and I was probably worse off than before… no definitely worse off, because now that stupid bird knew I'd dreamed about Malfoy, and no amount of conspiratorial winks could convince me that my secret was anywhere near safe with him. 

Christ, I thought Malfoy's ego was bad before… imagine it now.

And the good Doctor had said it meant nothing… Nothing! And so what if I couldn't even read one of his notes without picturing his milky white skin stretched over the delicate bones of his wrist, as his hand dipped and moved, dragging the quill tip along the paper. It didn't mean I didn't hate him, or want to see him behind cold iron bars for the rest of his unnatural life. It didn't mean I desired him… just that, no matter how low, how dispicable I found him, I was beginning to trust him.

The whole thing gave me a pounding headache, why did it have to be so difficult? 

I hated Malfoy worse now, than I ever had before my 'growing trust' had caused me to conjure up images of… well, what they were of wasn't important. In fact, I shouldn't think of them ever again. 

And what I _really_ needed right now, was a nice long soak… let's see… approximately seven minutes for Omen to get my reply to Malfoy…another fifteen for him to have my stuff flooed, five for him to give his secretary a quick shag (I gritted my teeth at the thought, and felt the overwhelming urge to apparate into his office, hex him just because I could) actually, better make that two minutes, didn't want to give him too much credit… 24 minutes, roughly.

Well, not enough time for a really good soak, but I could at least get a shower in.

With a sigh, a swish and a flick, I was standing in my living room.

The shower did me an amazing bit of good, although the moment pre-shower that I spent agonizing over what to do with the knickers Malfoy had given me was a little less than relaxing. 

I didn't want them, you see. What use did _I_ have for such a racy pair of underwear? I have always been a comfort over style girl, and the knickers went against that basic philosophy. On the other hand, returning them was out of the question. The thought of giving Malfoy something that had been so, er, intimately worn first drained all the blood from my face, then sent it rushing back into my cheeks full force. No, I couldn't return them… then perhaps I could destroy them… no, if I didn't give them back, I felt I should at the very least pay to have them replaced, and Veela's Secret didn't come cheep. No one destroys a pair of knickers that cost nearly enough to buy a small country.

"God, I hope the check is worth it," I grumbled as I preformed a cleaning charm on the robes he'd lent me. Those at least I could return.

I hung them up neatly on the bathroom door until I was ready to leave, and exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body… and nearly dropped it when I saw what was on my couch.

Shoes. It was shoes. Sitting there on the arm of my couch, and while I couldn't see anything else from my hallway, I imagined that those shoes were filled with feet, that connected to ankles, that led to calves, to thighs, to a slim torso, to a slender neck, to a face upon which, I surmised, sat the smirking mouth, and mirth filled eyes of Draco Malfoy.

I shrieked in rage, "you rat!" It came out as a battle cry. I'd left my wand in the bathroom, but didn't let that stop me from attacking, launching myself toward the couch with an unrestrained fury.

How dare he. How _dare_ he! After I told him explicitly not to come to my flat again.

I was inches away from attack, when Ron sat up, and stared at me with shocked, fearful eyes. 

"Eep!" that was the sound a cry of rage made when swallowed.

"Under a bit of stress, are we?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"You could say that." I said with a sigh, tightening my towel, and motioning for him to move his legs. He obliged, sitting up, and scooting over to make room for me, and I slid heavily onto the seat next to him.

"Ron, why are you here, unannounced… I thought you were Malfoy. I was ready to strangle you."

"I saw that… look, I'm sorry to show up like this, but… God, Hermione, I was worried. You were barely able to walk last night when I put you on the knight bus, and when I flooed to make sure you got home okay, you didn't answer. You still weren't answering this morning, either, so I figured I'd stop by after work. You know, just to check on you." He gave me a lopsided little grin, "It _has_ been one hell of a week. I mean, the last thing I wanted was to get another call from my mother saying he clock told her you were seriously injured."

"Injured? No, I wasn't injured last night… Ron, did you really put me on the Knight bus?"

"Well, of course, 'friends don't let friends apparate drunk'" he quoted, with a grin, "why?"

I growled, and leaned my head onto the back of the couch. "They must have gotten the address wrong, because I ended up at Malfoy manor last night."

"You what!"

I nodded, but didn't open my eyes. "Yes. I came to this morning with a horrendous hangover, and Malfoy grinning down at me like an idiot. That sadistic bastard really must enjoy my pain." 

"Well… yes. That's what it means to be sadistic…" he paused, "Malfoy manor? I swear, I told him to take you back to your appartment. The last place you needed to go last night was to see Malfoy." He shook his head, "you were ranting about him when we left the bar. Absolutely ranting. I'm sure you must have told him all sorts of unrepeatable things."

I snorted. "What's he going to do, huh? He's already got me in the palm of his hand. This is rock bottom, there's no going any lower."

"Yes there is, believe me. You just think so because you've never been lower. And if you're in the palm of a man's hand, for god sakes, don't give him a reason to squeeze."

Ron's concern was touching, and I couldn't help but smile. "Worried for me?"

"Well, yeah, this _is_ Malfoy we're talking about."

I looked him in the eyes then, "tell me about it. The worst thing is, he hasn't really made any move to retaliate. I show up at his house, wasted, and howling for blood, then wake up the next morning and accuse him of taking advantage of me. He can't be very happy with me at this moment, and I'm just sure he's got some sort of revenge planned, like a shorter skirt on my waitressing uniform. But luckily, it's Friday, and I have all weekend to forget about it."

"Wish _I_ got weekends off, but Saturdays are a big business day, and Fred and George would have a fit if I missed." He shrugged, "oh well, no Footlong Staffs for me…"

"Nine Inch Wands, and yes, It's very nice. After I meet with Malfoy tonight, I can…" I gasped, jumping up, and running back down the hall.

"Sorry, Ron," I called over my shoulder, "but I forgot, I've got to meet with him tonight to discuss my most recent bit of evidence, and to… well, it isn't important… anyway, I have to be running."

"No problem, I'll see myself out," he called back to me.

I can't say much about getting dressed. Lets just say landspeed records were broken, and leave it at that.

By the time I walked through the glass double doors of Malfoy international, and passed the front desk with a nod to Darla, it had been a good 30 minutes since I sent Omen. 

"He's still up there, isn't he?" I asked, waiting for the elevator to descend to pick me up.

"Oh, yes, and he said to send you right up when you got here. I'll warn you, he didn't seem entirely thrilled."

I couldn't help but to smirk.

"Good."

Darla bit her lip, "I know he's a bit difficult to handle, and, okay, he's more often than not a royal jerk, but it really doesn't pay to provoke him."

"Why is everyone telling me that?"

but the elevator arrived just at that moment, and I never got her answer. 

It didn't really matter, I supposed, I would know soon enough.

Okay, this was way too long a space between updates. Sorry guys. I was sure I'd have this one out sooner, but I lost track of time. Anyway, here you go!

I have heard through the grapevine, that the fic suggestion thing has to be cut. Seems a bit odd to me, but I suppose this means I'll have to start using my favorites lists… damn, that means I have to log in when I' m not posting… oh well.

Oh, on a weirder note, I got an email the other day from someone who edits HP stories for a website, asking if I'd submitted this fic under another name, and apparently someone had tried to plagiarize this story. Um… why? It seems so pointless to try to take credit for someone else's fanfiction… It isn't like either of us are getting any money out of this.

I know why I'm writing it, but what does someone get out of taking it? 

Anyway, that was weird more than anything else, and it isn't like I'm angry… just sort of sad for that person. Who needs recognition that badly?

Alright, enough of _that_. I'm working on the next chapter, and have a really clear idea of where it's going (which has been the problem with these last few chapters… I wasn't really sure what they'd contain before I actually got to writing, and as a result, put it off, and made a lot of false starts…)

See you soon…


	16. perfect end to a perfect day

The lift stopped only twice on the way up. The first time was on the 8th floor, to admit a bent old man, skin the exact color and consistency of tanned leather, dressed in blue coveralls, and pushing a wheeled trash can filled with shredded paper, candy wrappers, and the like. The janitor rode with me two floors, cursing under his breath in Portuguese, then got off again without so much as glancing in my direction.

No one else got on or off, and I was a bit pleased. The ride was much shorter without having to stop at every floor, and I was very anxious to see Malfoy. I had some questions I needed answered about Ms. Geranium's file. 

And then the doors slid open.

A tornado. That was the first thing that went through my mind. A tornado had hit the filing cabinet. Papers littered the desk, and carpeted the floor, and hung from the blades of the currently immobile ceiling fan. A tornado for sure. 

And then I realized how ridiculous that was. Fred and George had been trying to bottle the violence of a tornado for ages.

I mean if the Weasley brothers couldn't do it, there was no way Malfoy could.

A more mundane explanation was in order.

And who better to get that explanation from than Malfoy himself… if I could find him under this mess.

"Hello?" I called tentatively.

A sharp reply of "Granger!" came from the open door of Malfoy's office. It was more of a summons than a greeting, and I complied with a grumble, picking my way through the mess, avoiding the papers as best I could. Too bad there was no spell for organizing them. A quick swish and flick could have them stacked in a neat pile on the desk but that would almost make it worse.

At long last I reached the door, and stepped into Malfoy's office giving him a scrutinizing look.

Ruffled, was probably the best way to describe him. He'd slipped off his jacket at some point, hanging it over the back of his chair, and sat there now in his dress shirt (blue, silk, and probably Italian, but definitely expensive). He had his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, tie unaccounted for, and first three buttons undone, exposing the smooth, too-pale flesh of his neck and chest. I had to wonder if he waxed, then I realized how stupid it was for me to be thinking about in the first place.

I shifted my gaze up. Platinum hair, mussed just so, in a manner that suggested he'd been running his fingers through it, though now those fingers were toying idle with his quill… his quill… I was looking at his hands?

It occurred to me then that I was doing everything I could to avoid looking him in the eyes.

Stupid, I berated myself, it's just stupid. I hadn't had a problem meeting his gaze before, was I really going to start now just because some stupid bird had sat in on my therapy session?

I looked up, and immediately felt my breath catch in my throat. I may have mentioned it before, but Draco Malfoy had stunning eyes. Eyes with all the qualities of freshly sharpened steel. Eyes that were thankfully devoid of any sort of knowing smugness… well I'll be, that feather brain was true to his word.

"Granger," He repeated, raising an eyebrow.

God, I must have been staring.

Not that there's anything to stare at.

"Yes?" and to my great consternation that 'yes,' which was supposed to come out snappish, came out slightly breathy instead.

"Take the stairs, Granger?" he asked in reference to my tone. I could almost hear his thought processes: 'or are you just happy to see me?'

Not bloody likely.

"Shut up, you loathsome man. What the bloody hell happened to your office?" now _that_ was more like it. Fire, anger, and frustration… those are emotions I _should_ be associating with Malfoy.

"You know," he said, as though I hadn't spoken at all, "you're just the person I wanted to see."

That brought me up short. I wanted to tell him not to change the subject, but I doubted it would do me any good. Besides, I didn't know if I could suppress the urge to run long enough to get an answer to my question even if I forced it. Historically, whenever Malfoy was happy to see me, it meant something bad was about to happen, and my fight-or-flight reactions had just kicked into overdrive.

Fight-or-flight, eh? Well, of the two, I think I'd rather… "What for?" I asked testily, crossing my arms over my chest and doing my best to look standoffish.

"Granger," I ignored the way my name sounded like a purr rolling off his lips, "relax." 

He pushed his chair back, and stood in one fluid motion. I took an instinctive step backward, in spite of myself, as he began to move around the desk, and he grinned in a predatory fashion.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his voice all innocence, while his eyes promised… I wasn't sure what they promised, but I found myself being simultaneously attracted to, and repulsed by whatever it was I saw in them. "Surely," he continued, "I haven't flapped the unflappable Hermione Granger."

It took a conscious effort on my part to keep from moving further backward. No way was I giving ground to _him_. "You?" I snorted, and hoped my diminishing confidence wasn't audible. "Intimidate _me_?" my tone made it clear how ridiculous I found the idea, but he didn't seem to be paying me any mind, as he was still advancing. "Surely you're joking?" but it was half hearted at best, and now he was close enough that I could smell his breath coming in minty puffs, and the spicey clove scent that I was sure was his conditioner. He wasn't quite tall enough to loom over me, but I still had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes.

I felt oddly weak.

The corners of his mouth twitched up into a wry grin. "Good," he said with a nod. "then _sit_." With that, he placed his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down into a soft arm chair, I hadn't even known I'd been backed into. "All that standing and posturing was getting on my nerves." I heard him mumble as he retreated behind his desk, and took his seat.

"And I thought you _enjoyed_ getting a rise out of me."

"Oh, I do, Granger," he assured, leaning back in his chair. "Just not right now… I'm not sure if I can deal with your particular breed of unfounded hatred at the moment."

"Unfounded!" I screamed, preparing to leap from my chair, only to have it scuttle swiftly forward at Malfoy's snap. As I was only half way up, I fell back into the cushions with a yelp, and clung to the arms until it stopped opposite Malfoy. 

"Okay," he conceded with a grin I'm sure he thought was charming and boyish. "so maybe not _entirely_ unfounded…"

"You are a sick little shit, you know that?" he managed to look proud, the bastard. This was hopeless. "You know for someone who doesn't have the energy to be a jerk, you're doing a pretty good job. I thought you didn't want to piss me off."

"Oh, it isn't a lack of energy," he said behind that grin. "Rest assured, I've got _that_ in spades. I just don't think I could properly enjoy your fury, were I to provoke it."

"At this rate, you're going to get it whether you enjoy it or not."

"Is that a fact?" he said with one arched brow.

"I… aurgh! Forget it! What did you need me for, Malfoy. The sooner I find out the sooner I can go."

"I never said I needed you, Granger. Wishful thinking?"

Draco Malfoy's head on a silver platter. With a sprig of mint for garnish… now _that_ was wishful thinking.

"Out with it!"

"Sure you don't want to re-think my Saturday proposal?"

"Re-think your…" so that's what he wanted. Did he actually think I was going to come in on my day off to help him write a speech? Why on earth would I spend more time with him than I absolutely had to? "No! Absolutely not, I've already got plans, and…"

"So cancel them." He cut in.

"_and_," I glared at him for interrupting, "even if I didn't, I'm not spending my day off with you. Ask your Kiki to do it, if you really need the help so badly."

"As you've pointed out time and again," he replied in an exasperated tone, "she's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box." He paused, then snickered, "I'm sorry, did you just say '_my Kiki?_' Granger, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you sounded a bit… chafed at the idea."

"Of course I'm not!"

But he was still chuckling. "Anyway, I _can't_ ask her."

"So she isn't brilliant, she can still take dictation, can't she?"

"No, I can't ask her…"

"Because she had a dance lesson booked… look, I already know that, can't you just—"

"Granger, let me finish. I can't ask her, because she no longer works for me."

"She quit?"

"Yeah right. I _fired _her, Granger."

Fired? I bit my lip. "Well, that figures, doesn't it? You use her until you don't need her anymore, and then you just cast her aside." I wondered where my righteous indignation could have come from. I didn't even like the woman. Or I hadn't, anyway. "You are such a slimy, loathsome, disgusting—"

He stood, slamming his palms down on the table. "That is enough." I swallowed the next words out of my mouth. He'd gotten so serious so suddenly, his eyes hard and cold. It reminded me of our first meeting in this office, when I'd told him I was refusing his job, and he'd threatened me with destitution. I shivered under his eyes, and under the memory.

With a growl, he sunk back into his seat, and the hard edge was replaced by a weariness and… almost a wistfulness "There's no way to win with you, is there? You hated her, and I seem to recall several barbs lobbed in my direction about the practicalities of keeping an assistant with a larger bra-size than IQ."

"I didn't hate her. I didn't even know her. I hated _you_, and she was merely indicative of your lechery."

"Is that so?"

I nodded, "you used her."

Now the smirk was back, but there was a bitterness to it. "Perhaps." He conceded, "but whatever you may have thought, she wasn't dumb. She was a vibrant woman, and recent graduate of a small but accredited wizarding academy in Cairo. And she used me right back… for VIP treatment, new clothes, expensive perfumes, the occasional orgasm…" 

"Shut up." The thought of Malfoy and… well… _anyone_ being intimate brought a bitter taste to my mouth. There was something… something that I felt…it wasn't quite jealousy, and I wasn't sure I could put a name on it… not sure I'd want to if I could. I didn't _want_ to think about Malfoy… and Kiki… and Jean… and whoever else he hired next…

Oh my god. 

I had to get out of here.

"God you're a pig."

He leaned forward, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"No!" I cried in near desperation. 

I was going to crack. He was going to push me, and I'd cave. I had to leave while I could.

I struggled out of my chair, and stormed for the door. Almost out. Almost.

"Forgetting something, Granger?"

I turned to see Malfoy dangling my bra from the end of his quill. I panicked for a moment, before I realized it was the one I was wearing last night, and blushed instead. With a sigh of resignation, I trudged back to the desk, and he pushed out his chair so he could reach underneath it.

He pulled out a neat stack of clothes, and stretched them out to me.

"Listen," I said, as I reached for them, "about those knickers… I'll pay you back for them, I just…" I was taking the pile from him, I had the clothes in my hands… and then…

He was grinning as he gripped my wrist, causing me to drop my stack. Still grinning even as he pulled, sending me sprawling, in a most undignified manner, across his desk. I couldn't see his grin, as he leaned in close to my ear, but I could sure as hell hear it in his voice. "Tomorrow, Granger." He paused, and I could feel his breath along the back of my neck, his lips so close to my ear, I could _nearly_ feel the moisture from it "One way or another."

I inhaled, filling my lungs in preparation for the yell that was to come. Something along the lines of 'what the hell was that, and what do you think you're doing, you bastard,' but I heard the 'pop' of disapparation long before I had my breath.

I stood, and suddenly, I felt weak, leaning up against the desk for support. 

What the hell had just happened? And I squashed the automatic reply of 'nothing' even as I thought it. He'd been so close… so close… cheek to cheek. And I could still smell him. spicey, and sweet, and I swear to God, if I closed my eyes, I could feel his breath curling into my ear… and I hadn't _done _anything. 

Too shocked to move? Maybe. 

And even with all my training, Malfoy's reflexes were formidable, but… 

But the fact remained that I wasn't struggling all that much.

Maybe I really was beginning to trust him, I thought hopefully. Letting him get me in a position like that…

Or maybe…

No. Better to just forget about it. I've been under a lot of stress lately, and sleeping horribly. That had to be it. I was so focused on the case… the case… 

"Well shit." 

I'd never gotten the opportunity to ask about Serena Geranium, and for a split second, I considered going to ask him about it. The not entirely disgusted shiver that followed was enough to make me rethink that idea.

Nope, it was going to have to wait for Monday.

* * * * * *

I took a dreamless sleep potion that night.

Better safe than sorry.

* * *

The next morning I awoke feeling far from refreshed. That was the problem with dreamless sleep potions, no dreams meant no REM, and no REM meant sleep was less restful. 

Stupid of me really. I mean, what was I doing? It wasn't like I was in any real danger of having another dream about that git. Like I told Dr. Calloway, it was only one. Not like I had them all the time. I didn't suffer from images of his deft hands caressing my body.

Not that anyone could call that _suffering_. 

I paused. Now where had that thought… no, it didn't matter where it came from. All that mattered was that it was banished.

This was way too confusing. Obviously, seeing him everyday had caused me to short circuit or something. All I needed were a few blissfully Malfoyless days, and I'd be right as rain. I could go back to hating him.

Not that I didn't hate him already, or anything.

I growled. What if… what if he managed to follow through on his threat? Malfoy was nothing if not blindly determined. He wanted me to help him with his speech, and I knew first hand what happened when you defied him.

I… needed backup.

A pinch of powder, and my head was looking into Harry's living room.

"Hermione!" he jumped, obviously shocked to see me. He paused for a moment, unable to move, before a moan from his television galvanized him into action. He stopped his movie, but not before I got a good look at a woman doing another sort of unforgivable.

"Uh… surprise."

He smoothed down his clothes, crossing his legs, then deciding that was inadequate and nervously grabbing a throw pillow from beside him, and placing it in his lap.

"Um… How unexpected." He was as red as a Weasley, and refused to meet my eyes.

I understood immediately. "That woman won't let up on you will she?" I asked in my most amused tone.

Harry's eyes flashed relief, glad that I wasn't offended, or shocked, or disgusted. 

"Nope, she's going to be home in an hour, and I was instructed to be… uh… ready."

"Harry, have you lost weight? You could just tell her the drill sergeant bit is bad for your health. I'm sure she'll understand."

Harry shook his head, burying it into his hands. 

"If only it were that easy… you have no idea how much she wants this. The last time we went to a midwife, she didn't have any advice for us, so today we went to a fertility clinic."

"A fert… wow, she is desperate." It wasn't uncommon for a woman to see a midwife when she was trying to conceive, but for a pureblood witch to go to a fertility clinic? 

"They have her on some drug to stimulate ovulation… she jus wants this so badly, Hermione. And she's made so many sacrifices for me, for my job, and for my… well, my destiny and all… and I think I owe it to her to…"

"Harry, stop right there. I thought this was about the pressure to, er, perform so often. You're talking like you don't want a baby!" 

He coughed. "it's not that… it's just… you know, the pressure to perform… like you said." He nervously took his glasses off, and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt before placing them back on his face, and regarding me. "So… what was it that you flooed for?"

"I… just wanted to say hi?"

"I don't think so." He said in his 'you're busted' tone.

"Why are the men in my life always changing the subject?"

"Quit trying to change the subject."

"Alright, fine… I was just hoping you weren't busy tonight, but since you are…"

"Tonight? Oh, the concert, right?"

"Yeah."

"You change your mind about flying solo?"

"Well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Okay, yeah, I changed my mind… but there are extenuating circumstances."

"Elaborate."

"Malfoy."

"Oh… enough said."

"He wants me to work tonight. Needs help writing his speech for the grand opening next week… I told him I was busy, but he didn't take that well."

"Indeed? Imagine that, Malfoy not taking 'no' for an answer."

"I swear, sometimes it's like he's not aged since the day we met him. he never gets any more mature, like he's a permanent bratty child."

"That's what happens when you're the only child of a rich family."

I smiled, "very true. Well, you can see why I'm a bit jumpy. Malfoy's selfish enough to do whatever it takes to ruin this evening having you or Ron there would have been a relief. It isn't like I think you could actually stop him. but, you know… moral support and all."

"There's an idea, Hermione… you might try Ron."

"No, the Terrible Twosome are doing research, and need Ron to test."

"Gah! Twins… Now that I'm actually going to be starting a family, nothing sounds more frightening."

"Oh really? Well think about this, with those drugs Cho's on, its quite possible that twins will be in your future as well."

Harry went three consecutive shades of green.

"See you, Harry,"

He waved, but seemed to shocked to speak.

* * * * 

See… under a month.

Actually, this chapter has been finished for about 4 days, but I haven't had the time to type it in until just now. 

Next chapter has been started, and I'll have it out as soon as I can. 

What else, what else… I feel like I'm forgetting something…

Grr… oh well, I'm sure it was nothing. 

As usual, I'm open to any sort of constructive criticism… or insane praise.

Thanks again to all my readers…


	17. Hellcats

The performance was at a bar called Hellcat's, and, apparently, the agent I suggested was doing well for the band, because when I apparated in, it was packed, even for a Saturday night. Not a bad gig. In fact, it was so crowded it was damned near stifling, and in the interest of preventing dehydration, I did the only sensible thing, and made a bee-line for the bar to get myself a beverage.

Navigating my way through that crowd was difficult, but I followed the sign that read 'cocktails' like the North Star, and eventually fought my way to where three women stood behind a polished stretch of mahogany, and fended off a wave after wave of humanity by shoving alcohol at them. I liked their tactics.

With no more than a moments hesitation, I joined that wave.

"What'll it be, honey?" asked on of the women after a surprisingly short amount of time.

She looked like Malfoy's type. Blonde, statuesque, wearing a black mesh top, through which one could easily see her brazier, and tight black jeans that rode so low the top of her thong underwear were visible. I bet she was the type who had sex on the first date. Definitely Malfoys type.

I suppressed the urge to snort. Women like that may give females a bad name, with their obvious flaunting of their 'wares,' and the degrading way in which they use their bodies… they may make me want to scream, and shake them, and yell 'he won't respect you in the morning, and will have less respect for _me_ because of your actions,' they may do all that, but this one was preparing to pour me a drink, so I thought I'd let it slide.

"Scotch," I said "straight up."

And shortly there after, straight down.

A sigh, and then I ordered another. Scotch with a Scotch chaser. The thought brought a smile to my lips as I sipped this second one. I'd take it easy tonight. The last time I got drunk, I ended up on Malfoy's doorstep. I was by no means ready for a repeat performance. 

And this time I didn't even have anyone to act as chaperone. Though it was probably better this way, I did still have a wedding to go to, with no date in sight, and I supposed it was possible to meet someone worthwhile here. Or not… perhaps what I really needed to do was to meet _someone_. It had been a while, after all… and I was a woman with needs (illustrated by that stupid disturbing dream!) perhaps I could just… I mean, just this once… it wasn't like I was the sort to have one-night-stands often (or at all) maybe if I—

My god, what was I thinking?

With a groan, I swiveled my seat to look at the crowd. No, no one night stands. That just wasn't something I did. Obviously this whole dream of Malfoy was wreaking havoc on my psyche, but there was no need to 'relieve the pressure,' so to speak. It wouldn't hurt, of course, to see if I could find a possible date, and if we happen to sleep together… well…

I frowned, surveying the crowd. Something was off, and it took me a second to realize what exactly that was, and when I did I nearly choked on my scotch.

A hand was laid on my shoulder, and a breath was in my ear. I jumped about three feet in the air, and turned to find that bartender leaning against the counter, her face inches from mine. 

"Are you doing okay, there?" she asked, her voice a little too soothing, and little too soft.

"I- I'm fine."

"Here," she said, reaching over to take my glass, and brushing her hand against mine in the process. It took all the self control I had not to pull back. "looks like you could use another." Her smile dipped towards seductive, and this time, I really did pull back.

"Actually, I'm taking it easy tonight, you know how it is,"

"Don't be shy, love, tell you what, I'll make it on the house."

I shuffled backward, tripping and catching myself before I fell. "Um… I don't think that would be advisable… I…uh…" the band was starting to play on the stage, and I sighed with relief… the timing couldn't be more perfect. "I don't want to miss the act."

She waved as I pushed off into the crowd, and I had to shake myself. Stupid, Hermione, just stupid. You've acted like and idiot. Just because you've noticed that there were only a handful of men in a crowd full of women on a Saturday night, and half of those are bouncers… well… even if Hellcats _was_ a lesbian bar… even if the bartender _was_ flirting with me, and I wasn't just being over sensitive… well, it was no reason to freak out. But then again, it seemed that I was having quite a bit of trouble keeping my control these days.

With a sound that was something in between a growl and a groan, I made my way to the stage, where Nine Inch Wands was just about to start their set.

If only Ron had come with me. I'd flooed him, despite the fact that he was supposed to be working tonight, hoping that I might be able to convince him to come anyway only to find out that he was already skipping out to take Paige to Florendo's for dinner. Naturally I was happy for him, but still… a little backup would have been nice.

I sighed, and closed my eyes. And that proved to be my undoing, for just as my eyelids slid shut, a woman to my left poked me in the ribs, causing me to stumble, and the crowd surged forward as the first notes of a song wafted from the stage. I went down like the titanic, hitting my knees roughly on the floor, my cry of pain, however, was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, and the whine of a guitar. 

I was staring at a sea of knees, and moved to get up, but the crowd shifted again, and I was quickly knocked back down. Again I tried to rise, and again, I couldn't. 

And then a wave of panic washed over me. I wasn't going to be able to get up. My god, I was going to be trampled. 

No, relax. Easy there. Remember, you're a witch. 

I inhaled, a deep calming breath, and reached back for my wand, before I was jostled again, and had to place my wand hand back down to steady myself. Just as a spiked heel came down upon it.. 

With a cry, I pulled my hand back to my chest, cradling it there, as the sea of feet around me began to stomp in rhythm. I bit my lip, and tried to keep my eyes from watering. 

The pain faded quickly, however, with one realization.

I was going to die. I was going to die here, on my knees, in a lesbian bar, clutching my hand to my chest. If it wasn't so ridiculous, I would laugh. Instead, I began to cry.

And then there was a firm hand on my collar. Thick fingers curling around my shirt, and hoisting me up in the air. I sniffled, the relief welling up so strongly that I very nearly collapsed against my rescuer, and cried out my fearful tears. Very nearly. I was stopped short of such an act at the realization of just who my savior was.

"Goyle!"

"We seem to keep running into each other, Miss."

"W-what are you doing here?"

"I'm working, aren't I?" he asked, gesturing to his Hellcat's t-shirt. A bouncer, I would imagine. Or rather, I couldn't imagine him doing much else at a place like this.

I said the only thing that came to mind.

"Does Malfoy know you work here?"

"Ah, sure he does. It's only on the weekends, you know, put a few extra quid in my pocket." 

"Goyle."

"Yes?"

"He's here isn't he."

The large man shuffled, for a moment, looking a bit sheepish, and I resisted the urge to smack him upside the head. My hand was injured, after all. "Well, listen here, you lummox, you can tell your sleazy little boss that there's no way he's going to ruin this night for me!"

"Shall I just leave you as I found you, then?" 

What was that? Snide sarcasm from Goyle? I supposed I'd forgive him. Obviously, his lifelong partnership with one Draco Malfoy had had some negative effects on him. 

"Alright, you've made your point. Get me out of this crowd… and… Goyle?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry for the lummox bit, it was really uncalled for. I've just been under a tremendous amount of stress lately. I hope you can understand."

He shrugged it off, "No worries, he can have that effect."

He parted the crowds with sheer bulk, and I followed in his wake, a frown on my face. What was with that last comment exactly. I mean, assuming that Malfoy was at the root of my problems. Well, I certainly had news for him! My world did not revolve around that g—

Giggling, from just up ahead. And the low tones of a masculine voice, and when the crowd parted, I saw that Goyle had led me back to the bar. And Malfoy was currently sitting between two women who looked, by the way they kept shooting heated glances to each other, to be lovers. Though that wasn't stopping them from draping themselves across him, and laughing at his no-doubt rude comments.

That man. I stifled the urge to hex him, The initial pain in my hand had settled to a dull ache, and as I hadn't had a chance to examine my wand hand yet, I hadn't determined if it wasn't as bad as I had initially thought, or if I was experiencing the side effects of the adrenaline still in my system, and couldn't feel it. Either way, I figured it best to refrain from unnecessary use of it, so I settled for a snort and eye roll.

Goyle came up behind him, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir, I…"

"Goyle, not now… can't you see I'm busy?" He didn't even glance backward.

"But sir, I think…"

"Goyle, these lovely ladies were just inviting me to a private party at their flat around the corner, why don't you scamper off, so they can get back to inviting, eh?" 

"But I really think you'll want to know this."

"Goyle!" this time, he turned around, nearly dumping the redhead on his left off her stool. He stopped short of a tirade as his eye focused on me. "Oh," he said, after barely a moments hesitation. "I see. Thank you, Goyle, that will be all."

His lackey gave a nod, and melted back into the crowd. Malfoy's eyes never left mine, as he leaned one elbow against the counter. "Alicia, Trillian, perhaps it would be best if you two waited for me outside, I shan't be long."

The redhead glared at me, while her partner ran her tongue along the shell of Malfoys ear by way of goodbye. I clenched my teeth at the display, seeing her throw herself at him like that… Christ, didn't she have any self-respect?

"Well, well, Granger, fancy meeting you here… although, I always had a feeling about you." His tone was light, and playful, but I wasn't in the mood for his antics. 

I chose to ignore that comment instead of dignifying it with a response. Taking the moral high-ground, and all. 

"Have a seat, Granger." He said, indicating the one that had just been vacated by that… that… ear-licking hussy!

I almost refused, but realized that my knees were starting to wobble. If I stood much longer I was sure I'd start shaking, and that was the last thing I wanted him to see, so I sat quickly, tucking my hand into my lap, and noting that the pain was starting to get sharper. Sprained, maybe. I'd have to have it looked at soon, and there was no way I'd be able to use it for spells unlit it was healed. 

Great. 

I ordered another drink.

The bartender was the same as before, and just like she promised, gave me the drink, free of charge. I picked it up with my good hand, and tossed it back before turning to Malfoy.

"Made a new friend, I see."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I have to say, Granger, after all your admonishments to me about the way I conduct my _personal business_, and here you are, trying to go home with the bartender."

He was impossible. Infuriating, even when I was at my best. And he just wasn't letting up. And I was now starting to shake visibly, and I knew that the adrenaline was wearing off, because, damn, my hand was really starting to hurt now, and I was tired, and irritable, and I just couldn't take it…

"I hope you have you purse spelled, Malfoy, those two look like the type to rob you blind afterward."

So much for the moral high-ground.

"So long as they wait until afterward, I don't really see the problem. I'm not going home with them because their _honest_, Granger. I'm going home with them because they aren't"

"Pig." But I really should have expected as much. 

"Granger, not a civil word out of you mouth. Why do you hate me so?"

"Because you are."

"What did you mean by that exactly, Granger?"

I closed my eyes, and let out a pained breath. "You are a horrible person, Malfoy. You are rude, and cold, and selfish, and egotistical, and bigoted, and you spent the first seven years I knew you making my life, and the lives of my friends a bloody night mare, the next five and a half years avoiding prosecution for your crimes, and the last three weeks terrorizing me into taking a job from you and torturing me after I accepted. In other words, Malfoy, 'you are.' Your very existence is reason for my loathing."

"I'm touched, Granger."

"T- touched?" I stared at him slack jawed, as he gazed back at me, eyes dancing. "I've just insulted you, and you're touched?"

"Certainly. You must think about me an awful lot… besides, I know you don't mean that."

"Didn't you mention something about a speech you had to write? Why are you here attending to 'personal business' when it is quite obvious you have _professional _business to be attending to."

"Ah, Granger, you are forgetting, 'all work and no play…'"

"Might make you a decent human being? My god, Malfoy, you're a common beast. A dog sniffing out… ARGH!" I yelled.

"No, don't stop now Granger, I want to hear what I'm sniffing out." He was leaning toward me now, his cheek resting on his palm as his eyes danced in mine, the barest hint of a smile on his face. In this light, he almost…looked…

I pulled back, sitting ramrod straight in my seat. And then I felt his hand on my back, his fingers kneading my spine through the thin fabric of my blouse.

"Malfoy…"

"Hm?"

"Malfoy… what are you doing?"  
  
"You know, you are really tense. I think there's something in the medical plan about stress relief activities… you know, yoga, meditation, acupuncture… of course, we both know what the best stress reliever is, but I doubt that's covered." I shot him a dark glance, and he just grinned back at me. "I could have my assistant schedule you an appointment, or a lesson, or something." He suggested, pulling his hand back, to run it through his hair.

"You have a new assistant already?" I asked, more than a little annoyed that, despite the fact that my hand was now throbbing, I could still feel the tingling he'd left on my skin, and the feel of phantom fingers along my back. Best to forget that had ever happened. 

"hm? Oh, yes, of course. Alicia, the charming flame haired minx you met tonight."

I snorted, it figured. "I wouldn't say we _met_. I don't think I said one word to her."

"No, but you certainly did a bit of glaring, didn't you?"

And still the pain became more insistent. Perhaps I should leave immediately… no… no, it couldn't be all that bad, and I didn't feel like telling Malfoy I was injured. He wouldn't care either way. Probably throw it in my face, how I could have been helping him with his blasted speech, and getting paid for it, instead of being here, getting hurt. Of course there was the possibility that he _would_ care, and I couldn't figure out which was worse, facing his scorn, or facing the possibility of becoming his damsel in distress. 

No, the best thing to do was get rid of him, and take care of this myself.

"Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be out there right now?" but I couldn't keep myself from wincing, as pain lanced up my arm.

"Granger… hey, are you alright?" He almost sounded concerned, I thought with a bitter smile. Slytherins were always known for their powers of deception.

"I'm fine," I managed, after a moment, but I felt like I was going to be sick. 

"You don't look fine." His hand was back on my back, and this time the other one was on my shoulder, steadying me.

"Don't you have to get to the wonder-twins."

"Why are you so concerned about it, Granger, are you jealous?" but the reply was purely habitual, said without any sting. Empty words, he spoke for the sake of speaking, because that was the way it always was with us. Even as his hands slipped over me, and he kneeled next to me. Looking me over for injuries, "I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you watched." His eyes stopped where I had my hand settled in my lap, below the bar, where he wouldn't have been able to see it, had he stayed in his seat.

"My god…" his eyes shot to mind and his hands sought my shoulders, shaking me once, "what were you thinking of, you stupid girl? Talking to me while you're injured."

"It's nothing," I snapped,

"The hell it is, your hand is broken!" 

"Nonsense," I said, through closed eyes and clenched teeth.

"Believe me, Granger, I know a break when I see one," and with that he was on his feet, and pulling me up after him, holding me close as he apparated. 

And of course, I found myself right back where I said I'd never be again. Malfoy manor. Standing in what appeared to be Malfoy's study, no less. I shuddered.

"Satori," Malfoy called, and a house elf appeared at his elbow, bowing and groveling as house elves are wont to do. I was dizzy with pain by then, and couldn't muster the proper indignation at Malfoy for his participation in this atrocity. 

"Yes, Master?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Satori," Malfoy said, handing the elf a card, "please go to this address. Ask for a Murray Splint. Tell him that Mr. Malfoy is sorry about the late hour, but request his presence at once for a matter of some urgency. Tell him to bring his kit… do you have all that?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy, Satori is having all that sir. Satori will be back shortly."

And with that the elf disappeared.

"Now," he said turning his gaze on me, "for you…" he took my hand in his, and I made as if to jerk it back, but his eyes on mine stopped me cold. He mumbled something I couldn't quite make out, and I breathed a sigh as the pain lessened. I closed my eyes, feeling so relieved, and grateful that I was dying to just collapse into his chest, and bury myself there. He spoiled this feeling a moment later, of course, by opening his mouth. "Just what were you thinking in there? Hm? Managing to break your hand, and then sitting there, talking to me instead of telling me you were injured so you could get medical attention… have you gone completely barmy?"

"Don't talk to me as though I were a child!"

"Then don't act like one."

"I'm acting like a child? Listen here, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need your help."

He snorted, "Of course you don't. What were you thinking?"

"Listen, I fell by the stage, and someone stepped on it while I was down. I was very nearly trampled until your man, Goyle, pulled me out of the trenches.. Apparently I couldn't be heard over the music."

"That doesn't explain why you felt it would be wiser to chat with me, and try to goad me into an argument, than to have that hand looked at. What exactly did you think you were proving?"

"Nothing… I really didn't think it was that bad. It didn't hurt all that much at first, okay? Well, it hurt a lot initially, but it faded pretty quickly… I thought it was just sprained."

"Well, it wasn't… couldn't you tell?"

"I didn't really look… it was so dim… I didn't think I needed to examine it, because it really didn't hurt all that much."

"Well, that was only because you were still shaken from the fall."

"Well, thanks for working that out, but I sort of figured as much when the pain became nearly as unbearable as your company. And on that note, I think I'll be leaving."

"Don't be stupid, Granger."

"I already told you, I don't need your help. I can handle this, alright?"

"Don't need my – well, pardon me, Granger, but how exactly did you plan to leave? That's your wand hand you broke, it isn't as though you could apparate."

"Don't you think I'm well aware of that? I can have caught a cab, or the knight bus, or something."

He snorted, "riding the knight bus is a gamble when you're healthy, Granger."

"Well, that cab then,"

"And where would you have them take you? Hm? And how long would that take? You're luck I was there Granger, admit it… and I still can't believe you were sitting there, talking to me… argh!" he ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and began pacing. My god, I hadn't seen him this agitated in a very, very long time.

"Malfoy…"

"Sorry to interupt…" a thin, reedy voice came through the slightly cracked study door. "but Mr. Malfoy has said he had business with me."

"Ah, Splint," he strode to the door, and wrenched it open to reveal a bent old man wearing a tweed jacket over flannel pajamas. "You did bring your kit right?"

"I did, I did… my goodness, calm down young man… what seems to be the problem?"

Malfoy cast a glare at me over his shoulder, "that girl," he said jerking his thumb in my direction, "needs medical attention, and if you will excuse me, I need a bath."

"If you hurry, you ass, you can probably catch those two out in front of the bar!" I called to his retreating back. He stiffened.

"Don't tempt me, Granger." He paused to whisper to Murray Splint , receiving a nod as he closed the door.

"Now," he said, turning to me with a kind smile, "where does it hurt.

okay, this chapter probably has a ton of errors, as it is the first electronic draft ( I usually write at least four drafts of each chapter… two hardcopy, in my notebook. One typed. And one slightly revised) so I expect typos galore… if there's anything glaring, please let me know, but I'm putting this up because, damn it, it's time. 

Incidentally, I once ended up on the ground in a mosh-pit… scary stuff… 

5-8

see… this is why I usually do four drafts… anyone who read this chapter right after I posted it will notice several changes…


	18. out of the closet

  
  
Before reading this chapter, I would strongly encourage anyone who read chapter 17 within the first few days of it's posting to re-read it. some changes have been made.  
.

Splint worked swiftly, his wand whirling as he muttered healing charms under his breath.

After a few moments of tension, I sighed and relaxed into Malfoy's sofa and just let him work. It was fascinating to see a trained professional mediwizard in action. I recognized some of the spells from books, but they were the sort of things I'd never actually heard uttered, Madame Pomfrey having relied heavily on potions. As the minutes stretched on, and the pain ebbed, I could feel exhaustion creeping in around the edges of my mind.

I stifled a yawn. How long had it been since I'd slept well? Periods of dragon induced unconsciousness aside, I estimated that it had been nearly a week since I'd been able to get a good eight hours. Between working on the Ridgeback case, and setting Tracey up with internet access, and fixing my laptop, and drinking myself into a stupor… and waking up with Malfoy… well, it was just adding up.

It occurred to me that I was a wreck.

I sighed, imagine, _me_ letting Malfoy get to me like that… and what _had_ I been thinking back there? Talking to him when I was injured. Sure, I wasn't aware of the full extent of my injury, but I still should have been getting medical assistance.

And why couldn't I at least bring my self to say 'thank you?' After all, if it hadn't been for him, I would have had a much worse time of it.

It was odd, feeling like I owed Draco Malfoy. Like finding out you could breathe water. It just wasn't done, went against the natural order of things. It made me a bit irate, and perhaps a bit defensive. After all, I was a big girl, I could take care of myself, and I certainly didn't need Malfoy getting all… protective. Now _that_ was against the natural order.

I really didn't like what this job was doing to me.

"It's not even like he's _important_," I mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Huh?" Murray Splint's watery eyes stared into mine, questioning. "Heh, it's nothing."

He frowned, but seemed to accept the answer anyway. "Well, I'm all finished here. I didn't have everything I needed to fix you up properly, that house elf just told me to grab my field kit, after all. But I did set it, and put a quick-mend charm on it. It should be right as rain in a few days, so long as you treat it properly… that means no writing or complicated wand play for the next 24 hours at least, young lady."

"Certainly," I affirmed.

"I'm serious, you be sure to tell Mr. Malfoy I said so, as well. It wouldn't do for him to undo what I have done."

"Why would he…"

Splint held up his hand to stop me, "I'm not saying you need to cut short all your fun, just nothing that requires serious manual dexterity from you."

I blanched. Complicated 'wand play.'

Splint thought I was… that I was…

"Er, I think you may have gotten the wrong idea about Malfoy and I. We just work together… well, I work for him. I mean…"

He yawned then, widely, and I couldn't help but second that. "Now," he said, "it's time for all decent witches and wizards to be abed. Good evening, Miss." And with a flick of his wand, and a **pop** of disapparation, he was gone.

I sighed, and flexed my newly healed hand. Good as new, it seemed. I couldn't feel any pain at least, but it looked like I wouldn't be able to apparate tonight. Better safe than sorry.

I supposed that I could just floo home from the study, there was a fireplace opposite the sofa, and a bowl of floo powder sat on the mantle. It would be so easy to toss in a hand full, and be home. All without ever having to see Malfoy's smirking face.

But…

Regardless of his grating personality, he'd been there for me tonight.

I owed him an apology for the way I'd behaved.

So I steeled myself for the unpleasant task of facing my host, gathered up the last ounces of sanity, dignity, and patience this week had left me with (lord knew I would need them for the what lay before me) and stood up.

Malfoy had said that he was going to take a shower, so he'd most likely retreated to his personal quarters. And it only made sense that they were situated near his study. They shouldn't be _that _difficult to find.

I walked the few feet to the door and pulled it open to stick my head out, and drag my eyes up and down the hallway. To my right was a window looking out on a courtyard with a beautiful fountain depicting three sirens, mouths moving nearly imperceptibly in a silent song, and a rose garden with fairy lights flitting amongst the bushes. To my left the hall stretched on into infinity, large oak doors as far as the eye could see. And all along the corridor was portrait after portrait of smirking blondes, all with plaques proclaiming them Gitteous Malfoy, and Indigesteous Malfoy, and Lady Snootia Malfoy or other names of that sort. Pretentious sounding, and unpleasant. Fitting.

Finding the door that lead to Malfoy's chambers down that hall would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack. And something seemed off… what was it? When it came to me, I smiled. Clever, Malfoy, but not clever enough. That courtyard was very beautiful, and it stood to reason that the rooms on either side of the hallway would take advantage of that view with a window. There had been no such window in Malfoys study… in fact, now that I thought about it, the only window in the study looked out on the entrance.

I stepped out into the corridor, turned to the right, and walked straight forward and through the image of the window. It shimmered for a moment, resisting my foreign presence before collapsing into smoke and vapor. On the other side, I found myself at the bottom of a stairwell, leading up into darkness. Behind me, the image reformed, looking, from this side, like a projection into thin air. Well, that was that.

I started up the darkened stairwell, feeling relief when the torches flared to life as I approached, and died again as I moved away. I had no way of being sure, of course, that I was headed in the right direction, but I could almost _feel_ myself getting closer. Call it a hunch.

One that seemed not to pay off, as I reached the head of the stairs, and found myself standing in front of a blank wall.

I frowned, and moved forward, causing the torch ahead to light. What was the point, I wondered, of this stair and corridor, if there was nothing at the end? My fingers brushed the smooth and polished stone as I examined it in the dancing torchlight… wait… not smooth. I brushed my hand back over it again, and once again, felt my fingers catch slightly. I squinted, and leaned forward.

A seem stretched down the length of the stone, and I reached for the torch to free it and examine the crack closer, but as I pulled the torch, the slab… no _slabs_ two separate blocks of stone that had been forced together… stared to shift, pulling apart even after I shoved the torch back into place.

I was staring at several expensive robes, hanging on a rack, and I stepped forward to examine them just as the stones slid back into place behind me. For one panicked moment, I was drowned in darkness, smothered in the scent of silk, and fighting for my life with a designer shirt and then…

Light flooded in from in front of me and the robes were shoved to the side, leaving me staring into the shocked gray eyes of Draco Malfoy. I caught my breath.

He must have just finished his shower because his hair hung in still damp strands about his ears, and across his eyes. And there was of course one dead giveaway… he was standing there in nothing but a towel! Black terrycloth wrapped about his hips in a manner that was nearly indecent. And he was standing here, with me, in his closet, in a towel. The thought must have hit him just as it hit me because while I was blushing, he turned around with a snort, and adjusted his towel.

"Found the passage, did you?" he sounded completely recovered from his initial shock, but I couldn't tell for sure, as he kept his back to me.

My shock, however, was just beginning. He was in a goddamned towel. With his goddamned hair all mussed and shaggy, and that goddamned fresh-showered sheen that ghosted across his arms and shoulders, and the flesh of his back.

Would he put something on already?

I sighed in relief as he moved forward, out of the closet and back into his bedroom, grabbing one of those monogrammed bathrobes from where it sat, draped over one of his bed posters, and shrugging it on. His towel dropped to the floor, but as he turned back to me, he'd already cinched his robe closed, and tied it off.

"You're being awfully quiet over there… one might think you'd never seen a man half-naked before."

"That," I said, in an annoyed voice "was slightly more than half." Hm… great. Come here to apologize for my behavior, and thank him, and what do I do? Get all snappy. I tried to be logical, he certainly hadn't _asked_ me to burst into his personal chambers unannounced. If I saw something that made me uncomfortable, well, that was my own fault, wasn't it? There was no reason to get angry or snappish just because I was embarrassed, was there?

He hadn't asked for it, but he didn't need to take the opportunity to further my discomfort, did he?

I resolved to say what I needed to say and get out of there quickly, before I lost all patience with the insufferable man.

"To what…" he managed to get out before I cut in.

"I'm sorry."

"do I owe the pleasure… er, excuse me? Did you just say-"

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For the way I acted tonight. You were being uncharacteristically helpful, and I was being… harsh, and… unreasonable, and…"

"Yourself?"

"You really aren't making this any easier."

He sat on the edge of his bed, stretching his legs out before him, smirk playing across his mouth, "should I?"

My face reddened again, this time with suppressed anger. I swallowed it down, there was no way I was going to let him ruin this.

I decided to ignore him.

"Anyway, before I left I just wanted to apologize, and say thank you for what you did tonight. I owe you one."

"That's two you owe me, Granger."

My throat constricted at the thought. "I… I'd offer to help with that speech, but I can't write. Doctor's orders." Dear God, was I _stammering_?

"Granger, come out of that closet."

"Was that another Hellcat's reference?"

"Perhaps," he smiled, "now, come out of that closet." His eyes were insistent. There was power in his eyes. I couldn't resist their command, and despite the uncomfortable feeling that had lodged in the pit of my stomach, I moved forward until I was standing right in front of him.

He took my hand in his, brushing his fingertips along the bones as he inspected it. I inhaled sharply at the contact, and it took all my will power to keep me from pulling away. He was, after all, just inspecting the injury. Nothing to get worked up about. Nothing at all.

"Will you be able to work by Monday?"

Would I… _that's _what he was so concerned about!

"I'm sure it will be fine." My voice was chilly even to my own ears, but he simply raised his eyes to mine, and cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his voice low, and melodic.

I gasped as his fingers brushed higher, over my wrist, turning my hand over before running back along my opened palm. His eyes locked on mine. His fingers dancing in a skillful caress across my skin. The action suddenly felt more intimate than the most intimate of touches.

I did the only sensible thing, and yanked my arm back like it had been burned.

Was it… could it be possible that Malfoy was trying to, er, _seduce_ me? Perhaps the doctor had been more perceptive than I gave him credit for.

And then the next thought: God, but he was good at it. How many women had fallen for that trick, I wondered. I would not be one of them.

"What," I hissed at him, "do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know what you're…"

"Don't try to play innocent with me! I know you had your heart set on going home with the wonder twins tonight, and I may have tanked that little fantasy for you, but I will not be some sort of consolation prize."

"Consolation…" his smile turned bitter, "well, it was nice while it lasted, but now Propriety Granger rears her ugly head."

"That's absolutely right, and if you think I'm going to let you take me to bed, well…"

"I'm sorry, but if _you_ think I have any interest in taking _you_ to bed, you are sorely mistaken!"

"Of course you want to bed me, Malfoy, you'll bed anything. You're nothing but a cheep slut."

"Listen, Miss Know-it-all, what makes you think you have all the answers about _me_!"

"You aren't that complicated, a shallow, self-serving, egotistical bastard who thinks he can use people and discard them as he sees fit." I was breathing hard. Nostrils flared, ready for a fight. I quite literally wanted to knock his block off. And then he spoke.

His voice was quiet. I hadn't expected it to be. We'd worked ourselves into a rage, and part of me wondered how I could go so quickly from one extreme to another. From being so civil, to being so nasty.

He said, "whoever this guy is… the one who got to you… he sure pulled a number on you, didn't he?"

I choked. I couldn't breathe. _Whoever this guy is…_ could he know? _The one who got to you…_ I felt the tears welling up in my eyes.

"I should go," uttered in between gasps.

"Yeah, you probably should…" he watched me as I crossed the room, pulling a hand full of powder from the bowl on the mantle of his fireplace.

"Granger…" his voice sounded almost contrite, but I never heard what he had to say. A moment later I was standing in my livingroom, brushing soot from my clothes. Loosening the buckles on my shoes before stepping out of them, pulling the hoops from my ears, sinking down to my knees… crying on the floor. You know. The usual routine.

Magnus… _the one that got to you… he sure pulled a number on you, didn't he?_

Oh, Malfoy, you have no idea.

.

Sunday passed without so much as a word from Malfoy. I was overjoyed, of course, to finally have some peace from him. And also a little embarrassed about the way I'd acted the night before.

__

He sure pulled a number on you…

It had been silly of me to overreact like that. Of course Malfoy hadn't been… hadn't meant to… he was just being concerned. And even if, hypothetically, he had been… working his charms on me… well, it was no reason to fly off the handle. It was just… for a moment, I'd felt like I was being used. Like I was being lied to. Ridiculous. Malfoy never said he loved me. He'd never even said he liked me.

Not that I'd want him to. But…

__

Whoever this guy is…

I decided that it was better, really that we had a day to cool down, and then, when our heads were clear, I could talk to him again, apologize (again) and put this whole nasty business behind me.

And then I went about my business. Tea with mother, shopping with Ginny (who was apparently carrying a torch for the groom's cousin, and couldn't decide on a dress) and in the evening, a movie at the cinema around the corner.

When Monday came, I felt refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready for just about anything. And then I apparated to Temporary Services to floo to Paris.

Tracey Higgins looked quite shocked to see me.

"Miss Granger! What are you doing here?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten already Mr. Higgins. I'm supposed to be working in Paris this week… something about a grand opening… anyway, Malfoy told me I could floo from here."

"Oh, he didn't owl you, did he?"

"Owl me about what?"

Tracey was now burying his head in his hands "He stopped in this morning, and said he didn't need you for this anymore. I was supposed to find you another job, but there wasn't time, so I was going to give you the day off… oh dear… he really didn't owl you?"

I gritted my teeth. "No, he didn't"

.

A rather short chapter… and after such a long time too.

Well, anyway, sorry this is so late, I have no good excuse except that I was in a rut… hope this chapter was worth the wait though… I figured that when the death threats started pouring in, it was time to get off my lazy butt and write.

Speaking of updates, a certain author whose work I enjoy immensely (you know who you are) has left me in the lurch… come on, Plastraa, I have to know what happens next!


	19. why you should always make appointments

Darla had one ear glues to the phone, and a quill in her fingers when I stepped through the glass doors, and into the lobby of Malfoy International. I almost turned right around, and stepped back through those double doors at the sight.

"I'm telling you, Mr Archer," she was saying in a sharp, irritated tone, "you have no appointment in my little book," she demonstrated this by wedging the phone between her ear and her shoulder, and using her free hand to flip through the pages of a large tome on the desk in front of her. "No appointment, no meeting… how much clearer can I make this?"

She furrowed her brow at something the other person said, "now, there's no need to take that tone of voice with me. It's a pretty simple concept, you call her secretary… you do know her office number, don't you? Good. Then call her secretary, and make an appointment, and then it will show up in my book, and there wont be any need for another of these conversations." She put down her quill, and took a sip from a glass filled with what was presumably water, and took hold of the phone once again. "I could, but I won't. I don't care who you're marrying, Miss Thatcher is the head of Research and Development for the entire entertainment branch, and she's a very busy woman."

She slammed the phone down into its cradle, muttering all the while about how much she _hated_ people who didn't make appointments, and that it didn't matter if Mr. Archer was marrying Miss Thatcher in a week or not.

I wanted to sink into the floor, but settled for whirling around to leave. Gryfindor or no, I was in no mood to deal with the reaming I was sure to get for not calling ahead. When the inevitable happened, and she called up to Malfoy's office, I didn't want her tipping him off that I was there. In my fantasies of the coming confrontation, it was Malfoy caught off guard for once.

Perhaps I could get Moody to compromise the floo networks for me again.

But I had barely taken two steps when a call of "Miss Granger," halted me in my tracks.

I sighed, and turned back to the desk, "good afternoon, Darla," I said with a forced smile. "How are you this lovely afternoon?"

"I'm doing well… you're a bit early."

"A bit…?" _what?_

She nodded, "Yes, but he _did_ say to send you up straight away, so I suppose you ought to go ahead," she said, with a wave in the direction of a small crowd of people who worked in the building that had gathered by the lift.

"Did he?" Strange… and suspicious.

I frowned. He _knew_ I was coming? So much for my dreams of catching him with his proverbial pants down (the thought of catching him with his actual pants down… and most likely with the latest in his string of throw-away women… was enough to make me cringe). Why would he be expecting me?

"A-alright, I suppose I'll just… go on up then…" I said, moving to stand with the crowd. The urge to flee rose like a fifty-foot wave, looming over me as the doors slid open, and everyone moved forward, but I fought it down, and let the tide of humanity carry me forward, and into the back of the car. The doors slid closed again, and I told myself it was ridiculous that my life was flashing before my eyes.

Malfoy was _expecting _me.

It wasn't like I'd had any real desire to be a waitress in his most recent Paris venture, I just hadn't liked being given the runaround about my duties. I'd spent the last part of the previous week in a tizzy about how I was going to work around my newest assignment, and deal with the magical strain of repeated international apparations, not to mention the mental strain of having to wear those revealing uniforms while Malfoy looked on and laughed at my discomfort. And then to find out at the last minute that all the worry was for nothing because Draco Bloody Malfoy, Part-time God, and Ruler of all that He Surveys changed his mind.

Well, I was a bit irate.

Malfoy was expecting me.

The thought sent a cold chill down my spine. It was like he knew what I planned to do before I even planned to do it. Was it possible that he knew me so well he could predict my reactions? Had he been playing me all along?

No. of course not, I assured myself. Then refused to think of it again. That train of thought was a short, fast trip to insanity. There had to be a more mundane excuse for him knowing I'd be here.

I just didn't know what that could possibly be.

-

I stepped out of the elevator, and into an empty front office. Before I had time to wonder what could possibly have happened to Malfoy's new assistant, I heard a high feminine laugh, followed by the sound of a deeper, masculine voice.

I snorted. Up to his old tricks already? And this time he'd been expecting me, too. Well, if he thought I was going to wait out here while he played 'snake in the grass' with the most recent Bimbo, he had another thing coming.

I took a deep steadying breath, fixed my eyes on my shoes with the intention of not taking my eyes off them, and pushed the doors open.

"Malfoy, so sorry to interrupt," I said in a tone that made it clear that it was _my _discomfort that made me sorry, and not _his_. "but I was told you were expecting me. Which leads me to wonder, first of all, why you're shagging some girl when you knew I was coming, secondly, how you knew I was coming at all, and lastly, why the hell you took me off the Paris assignment."

To my great consternation, he merely chuckled.

"What's so funny, you…"

"Granger," he said, in a tone most people reserved for talking to young, unreasonable children, and Malfoy reserved for talking to people he thought very stupid. "You might want to look up, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself."

It was that tone that caused me to glance up more than his command, and my eyes sought his, locking as I began to glare in earnest.

It occurred to me that Malfoy was not only fully dressed, but looked immaculate, and unruffled. His assistant, the redhead from Hellcat's was in a similar state, and it occurred to me that they probably hadn't even been snogging when I burst in, and I'd accused them of being involved in much worse.

I couldn't keep the blush off my face.

"Er, you two were polishing up Malfoy's speech, weren't you?"

Malfoy snickered behind his hand, before waving Alicia off his desk. "Give us a moment, love, I need to talk to Miss Granger here." He flashed me a sly smile before blowing a kiss her way. "I'll call you back in to finish this later."

The redhead, paused momentarily beside me, "you were at Hellcat's the other night, weren't you?" she asked, then without waiting for a reply, she smirked "I never forget a face!"

"Alicia." Malfoy said with command, "a moment, please."

She flashed a coy look over her shoulder at him then moved passed me.

I almost hit the ceiling when she goosed me, and she was out the door by the time I'd recovered from my shock enough to be properly outraged. "Malfoy… I've just been harassed." I said in wonder.

He'd seen the whole thing, and was now reclining in his chair, loosening his tie, and snickering again. "So I saw. She's probably made certain assumptions about you, Granger. I mean, think about where you two met…" his voice trailed off, his smile turning wicked, "now there's a delicious thought."

My eyes widened in shock, then narrowed, "well you can bloody well _stop_ thinking about it, Malfoy, because it will never happen."

"Perhaps you're just in denial… maybe Alicia knows more about your preferences than you do."

"Malfoy."

"hm?"

"Shut up. Perhaps I should straighten her out."

"Oh, but I rather like that she _isn't_ straight. Not entirely anyway. Leave me with more options, if you follow me." The look in his eyes got far away, and dreamy, and I very nearly lost my lunch right there.

"Malfoy," I clapped my hands together loudly, "focus!"

he blinked twice. "Trust you to spoil a perfectly scrumptious daydream." He said, with a smirk, "so what seems to be the problem. I thought I remembered giving you the day off."

"That is precisely the problem, Malfoy. Why didn't you tell me you were pulling me off this… an owl would have been nice, but instead I had to find out from Tracey when I stopped in to floo over."

"Floo over? Already? But you weren't supposed to start your shift until much later."

"Well, no, but I was planning on going a bit early. The foremost expert on Gremlin behavior, Jaques De Carvier, was a former instructor at Beauxbattons where two of your employees were educated. He's got an office in Paris now, though. I thought I could floo to the club, and walk around Paris."

"Are you ever not working, Granger?"

"Only when I got to Temporary Services," I continued, ignoring him, "Tracey told me you'd canceled my assignment." I bit my lip, "What I want to know is: why?"

"Why?" He seemed genuinely surprised that I wanted to know. "Granger, you didn't want this assignment in the first place, why are you so reluctant to be pulled off now?"

"I just don't like being jerked around for no reason."

"I have my reasons, Granger." And he apparently expected me to leave it at that, because he turned his attention back the speech in his hands.

I growled, "accio speech," I said, and before he could grab the sheets, they came flying across the room and into my hands. "Now," I informed him, "we aren't done. you don't want to tell me your reasoning? Fine. I can't say I really have any burning desire to get inside that tiny lecherous head of yours. But that doesn't mean I've said my peace about this. A simple owl would have been nice."

"I was sending you an owl, Granger, but you were early."

"Yes, and I'm sure the, what, one hour notice you were giving me might have been fine for you, for me, it would have been a bit more of a problem."

"You'd been injured, Granger, I thought you'd be _happy_ for the time off to rest. Not to mention that international apparations are a pain, and I felt that two a day, three days in a row, with the way you've been working yourself lately was just asking too much of you."

"Don't do that, Malfoy," I said with a shake of my head.

"Don't do what?"

"Pretend to be a caring person. I don't need you playing at being concerned… it's more unnerving than anything else, and certainly not helpful."

He drummed his fingers across his desk, "is that so? Because you were taking such good care of yourself on Saturday."

"Oh, shut up."

"No, seriously, Granger."

"Fine, I get your point. It's like you said, I didn't even want this assignment to begin with. I would just appreciate it if, in the future, you would warn me if you were feeling particularly protective, so I could plan my week accordingly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to see a man about a gremlin."

I turned to leave, but paused mid-step as his voice came from behind me, "Not so fast, my dear."

"Oh, what is it now?" I asked, my patience wearing thin. Why couldn't he just let me go so he could get back to his speech writing? I was sure he was relatively anxious to have it out of the way so he could indulge in other activities with Alicia.

He didn't reply, and with a frustrated sigh, I turned to face him again.

He'd moved, and was now leaning casually against his desk, balancing his wand on one finger absently, while treating me to a maniacal grin. It was a grin I'd come to associate with very bad things heading in my direction. I shuddered, and swallowed hard.

"Just because you aren't working tonight," he said, now that he had my full attention, "doesn't mean you'll have any time to see this Jaques De Cavier."

"What," I asked, " are you on about?"

"Granger, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Grand opening of _Chez Malfoy_ this evening?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Not at all," but joke or no, he was quite obviously finding this situation wildly amusing.

"Absolutely not!" came my incredulous reply.

He flipped his wand into the air, sending it spinning end over end, and muffling a mildly suspicious cough before catching it again, all without taking his eyes from mine.

"How about if I say please?"

"Not even then, Malfoy. You couldn't have honestly have thought I would accept, could you?"

"Oh course I didn't think you would." He said, his grin never faltering, "but I was pretty sure I could convince you, I _am_ awfully charming"

"And awfully full of yourself… my god Malfoy, if your head gets any bigger, they'll need to expand your private elevator." I sniffed, "besides, I wouldn't be caught dead with a philandering jerk like you… incidentally, you two straightened yourselves up pretty well. I was completely fooled by the speech writing cover."

"Excuse me? Speech writing _cover_?"

"You can drop the innocent act, Malfoy, your fly's unzipped."

He glanced down, and paled, before turning his back and righting himself. "Heh… how about that… wonder how _that _happened."

"Save it, I really don't care to hear how it was necessary for you to write your speech unzipped. I have no desire to hear about how you needed ventilation. Personally, it doesn't matter to me one bit, except that it shows what an absolute ass you really are. And the fact that you have the nerve to ask me, _me_, to accompany you to this opening. As if I was some sort of idiot who wouldn't notice, or bimbo who wouldn't care."

"Oh, pardon me, Miss Granger," his voice filled with disdain, "were you under the impression that this was a _social_ invitation? And I'm the one who's full of himself. My situation isn't so dire that I would desire _your _company."

For some reason, those words got to me, and to my horror, my eyes began to sting.

"Listen, Granger," he said, his voice somewhat softer now, "this is business." He tossed me a dossier.

"What's this?" I asked in a forced level voice.

"This is the owl post I was going to send you. It contains information on a Mr. Vernon Salinger, the head of a small textile company in India, and his business. He's been invited to the opening. I want you to look it over, and watch him over dinner, and in conversation, and when the event is over, I want your opinion."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He confirmed.

I bit my lip. It wasn't a social engagement, like he said. It wasn't like I was going to Paris, city of lights and romance, with _Malfoy…_ I was going with Malfoy International. That was a much safer concept.

"You're telling me all of this… no surprises? No fake jobs this time? No ruses, or ploys, or amusing sidetracks?"

"It's been a long week for both of us."

"Yes, it has," I agreed, warily. "Are you intending to cash in your favor, Malfoy?"

He was grinning again, "you drive a hard bargain."

-

Alright, sorry this is so short, there was more, but I'm leaving in about five hours to go on vacation, and I still haven't finished packing. Not to mention the fact that I have to sleep at some time before I drive 1000 miles.

Oh well… I'll see what I can do about getting an update while I'm away, but no promises.

Quick thanks to everyone who reviewed… over 750 at the time of this posting… wow, is all I can say.

And Plastraa… sorry it took so long, but here it is!


	20. Rain in the City of Love

God, why does make formatting these things so difficult, don't they know that page breaks make these stories easier to read? Anyway, please ignore the (I), as it only exists as a placeholder since double spaces don't seem to want to work.

(i)

It was raining in the city of love.

I realized after I'd apparated that I probably should have checked a weather report before choosing my attire. My knee length halter-dress, and sandals were sorely out of place in the crowds of raincoated pedestrians that ambled along in the streets, and I blamed Malfoy for it.

It was his fault, really that I was outside, wandering around in this awful weather.

Shortly after arriving home from my rather disappointing meeting with him earlier in the afternoon, I received an owl… well, a package from him that was delivered by that unnerving Falcon, who flew into my bathroom window as I was undressing, and proceeded to give me a _look_, before I shooed him back out, making sure to latch it tight. Really, sometimes there was an intelligence behind those eyes that was frightening.

I'd refused to look at the package until after my shower, I'd be damned if I'd let that complete wanker ruin another shower, and so it was that by the time I read the note tucked under the package strings, it was too late to do anything about it.

__

Granger,

The note had said,

__

This package contains a dress I would very much appreciate if you wore.

Regrettably, I won't be able to see you answering your door in it, as I have to go to Chez Malfoy early to see to some last minute problems that have arisen. Please apparate there at your earliest possible convenience..

Followed by some apparation coordinates.

I'd shoved the package unopened into the deepest recesses of my closet, never to be seen again. The last thing I needed was to be parading around in an outfit of Malfoy's choosing, bad enough that I was going to this little soiree as his escort. Besides, I'd already decided by that time what I was wearing. A blue silk dress, so fine as to be nearly sheer, and sandals to match.

Now I was almost sorry I hadn't seen what was in that package. Maybe Malfoy would have had a raincoat in there.

Although, if I'd just been able to apparate into the building, like I was supposed to, I wouldn't have wandered ten blocks in the wrong direction, only to find out it was another 20 blocks back the other way. You see, it's possible for a Wizard (or Witch) to apparate without a mental image. Hell the chance of Splinching yourself is actually quite low. The main reason it wasn't done was that apparating with only a set of coordinates to guide you and no mental picture of your destination, resulted all too commonly in the apperator appearing sometimes up to 2 miles off their mark. Disorienting to say the least.

In this case, it wound up plunking me down on a dark, deserted street, in the rain, with no way of knowing which direction I needed to go in. The result was a thirty-block walk around Paris… and not even any of the good parts.

After a good half an hour walking about in the rain, I found myself standing in front of a very trendy looking building emblazoned with a neon sign proclaiming it 'Chez Malfoy' in flowing cursive. I could see the shimmer of a weak glamour on it, and knew the muggles around me were seeing the dilapidated shell of a particularly unsavory restaurant which they were given the magical compulsion to walk across the street from.

I drew an odd look from an elderly couple walking an equally elderly poodle, but they quickly forgot about me and my odd behavior once I passed the muggle wards.

Safely out of the sight of prying eyes, I performed a quick drying spell, and stepped under the overhang of the building to pull my hair out of the bun I'd coaxed it into only an hour before. The hair would have to air dry, drying spells only made the frizziness that plagued me in my youth worse. With a disgruntled sigh, I transfigured the seventeen hairpins I'd used to tame my mop into a delicate looking metal headband, and shoved it into my hair.

It would have to do.

"Stupid rain," I muttered, "stupid Paris, stupid opening," and for good measure, "stupid Malfoy!"

And it was at this point that the door I had just been reaching for burst open, emitting an immaculately dressed, but obviously frazzled Malfoy. His robes were the black silk of traditional former wizard wear, but shorter than normal, not even reaching his knees, so I could see the slacks he wore underneath them, and belted at the waist by a silver chain. Over this was draped a black velvet cloak, the whole ensemble contrasting mightily with his pale face and, surprisingly mussed, pale hair (he must have been quite agitated, I thought, he always runs his fingers through his hair until it gets messy when he's agitate). It occurred to me that the outfit should make him look… well… flaming, but oddly enough, he resembled nothing more the picture of a dashing pirate that had been on the cover of one of my books as a child

This I observed from on the ground, where I'd been knocked when the door had opened so abruptly.

Malfoy simply paused with his fag halfway to his mouth, and gave me a quizzical look. "Granger, what on earth are you doing on the ground?"

"I'm not here for fun you know, some great lummox just knocked a door into me and didn't even appolo…" I trailed off, noting the path his eyes were taking as they traveled over me. With my face flaming, I tugged my dress down to cover more of my legs.

"A gentleman would offer to help a lady up," I informed him snappishly.

"Who said I was a gentleman?" he asked with a decidedly devilish gleam in his eyes, never the less, he reached down, and hauled me up by my arm. "Now, what are you doing out here in the rain?" he asked, before turning me around, and drying the spot on the back of my skirt.

I swatted his hands away, and fixed him with my best cold glare. "I was trying to find this place, you see, my escort never came to pick me up, and as I'd never apparated here, I missed the mark by a few blocks."

"Is that so? Well, your escort must be a fool, or at the very least, a complete prat to let a vision of loveliness such as yourself come to this event alone."

"Are you trying to be charming?"

"It's a pretty good attempt, you must admit." He said with a grin that it was absolutely impossible for me not to return.

"I don't have to admit anything," I informed him.

This he returned with a wry twist of his lips, "of course you don't, stubborn little witch." He gave a little chuckle, "but I meant what I said, you clean up nicely, Granger."

"Gee, I'm so happy you approve."

"Mmm, do I ever" was his smirking reply, but when I returned his smirk with a cold glare, he dropped it for a frustrated scowl as he fished a silver cigarette case from inside his robes. "God, I've been dying for a fag," he confessed to me. "I don't suppose you've got a light?"

I shook my head, mustering my best disapproving look. "I don't smoke, Malfoy, and neither should you."

"Concerned for my health?" he asked hopefully.

"Mine, actually," I informed him, "second hand smoke is a killer."

"Have it your way," he said with a shrug, and quirking one corner of his mouth up, he parted his lips slightly, and placed the filter between them. With a wink, and a snap of his long deft fingers, Malfoy was sucking the death out of a glowing roll of tobacco.

"Cute little parlor trick, Malfoy," I said, unimpressed. "How long did you have to practice to perfect that piece of magic?"

"Months," came his smooth reply, "I can be very diligent, when I need to be."

"Indeed?" I didn't like the smile he was giving me.

He nodded, "oh, yes. Sometimes, I spend hours on a task. I'll do it over and over again until I get it right. I usually work all through the night."

At the suggestive tone of his voice, I couldn't help but blush. He was doing it just to annoy me. "Prat," I mumbled to myself.

"Hm?" he asked between puffs.

"I said, you must not be very skilled if you have to try so many times to get it right."

"That's such a Gryffindor answer." God that smirk was annoying, "I'm good _because_ it takes me all night."

I couldn't suppress my shiver.

"Oh, honestly, Granger," Malfoy grumbled, the humor sliding from his face as he misinterpreted it, and slid his unclasped his cloak. At first, I was so unused to Malfoy behaving like a gentleman, that I had no idea what he planned to do with it, but then the realization hit me.

"Malfoy, there's no need…"

"Shut up," he commanded absently, as he settled it around my shoulders. "Honestly," he scolded softly, "the smartest witch in our year, and you don't know enough to wear a jacket."

"It was warmer in London," I replied, in a slightly dazed voice, as I drew the fabric around me, holding it closed with one hand. My eyes slid shut involuntarily, as I absorbed the comfortable warmth that still clung to the cloak lining from it's proximity to Draco's body. I let the warmth seep into my bones, and inhaled his spicey scent.

"Warm…" the word slipped out of my mouth unbidden, and I was aware how much it made me sound like a child.

Malfoy chuckled. "I have and unusually high body temperature," he supplied.

"Is that so?" I heard the whisper of fabric on fabric, and I opened my eyes to see that Malfoy had shifted so that he was leaning against the wall next to me.

"Yeah," he replied, but he was no longer looking at me. Instead he was staring straight into the rain. "So," he said, after a moment, "are you going to tell me why you were standing out here?"

"The note you sent said to come early."

"Would that be the same note that said to wear the dress in the attached package? I love how you pick and choose which orders to follow."

"First of all, I'm not some soldier in 'Draco's Army,' and I'm not your slave. I'm your employee, that means my life is my life, and what I do or do not wear is my choice. Secondly," I said with a sniff, and a haughty tilt to my chin, "it wasn't my style."

Now he looked at me, his shrewd eyes examining my features before he cracked a grin, "you didn't even open it, did you?"

I glared back in reply.

"Typical," he said with a head shake. "Well, I'm a bit disappointed, but I can't say I didn't expect it," he gave me another once over, "or that I disapprove of your choice in attire." He leaned in a bit closer, and I felt my palms start to sweat. "So you read my note, and you came early, that still doesn't explain why you were out here instead of inside where it's warm and dry."

"I had only just gotten here when you threw the door open, and knocked me over."

"So you weren't trying to catch me alone for a little tete-a-tete?"

"God, you are incredibly arrogant, you know?"

"I'm incredible at a lot of other things, as well, Love." He threw his spent cig to the ground, letting the rain put it out, and offered me his arm, "shall we?" he asked.

I eyed his offered appendage, then coolly ignored it, stepping out from under the overhang and out into the rain to walk around him.

"Cold," he said in a not unamused tone.

"I thought you had an unusually high body temperature." I shot back over my shoulder, as I opened the door.

"I do, but you, my dear, are sub-zero. I simply can't compete." He followed me into the club, and stopped me in the archway of the receiving area with a hand on my shoulder. I turned to give him some comment about personal space and respecting it, but he just slipped the cloak off my shoulders, and handed it to a man I assumed was the host, who in turn handed it to a bus boy with a whisper of "coat room."

I turned once again to go inside, when he stopped me again, "Granger," and I was momentarily shocked by the seriousness of that voice. I realized how rare it really was for Malfoy to be serious with me.

I turned back to him.

"Yes?"

"There are some things we need to discuss, the press will be here anytime, and the guests should start arriving within the hour. I'm sure you know this affair is by invitation only, and the critics that are coming aren't only going to be examining the food, atmosphere and entertainment. It's important that tonight you are-"

But he was interrupted by a call of "There you are," from across the room. Actually, it was more like 'Zere you are,' as it was said in an all too familiar heavy French accent.

"Fleur is here?" I asked, in near panic.

At the distress in my voice, Malfoy gave me an odd look, and answered, "yes, she the events coordinator… Granger, why do you look like you just swallowed a toad?"

But I hadn't time to answer his question. For at that moment, Fleur flounced up to us, and grabbed Malfoy by the arm, hauling him in the direction of the kitchens, if the faint banging of pots and pans were any indication.

"Oh, Monsieur… c'est terrible…" and she launched into and explanation in French so rapid, all I managed to catch were the words 'lobster,' 'red-tide,' and 'lawsuit.'

"Oh, for the love of God," Malfoy answered in English. "If it isn't one thing, it's another," he glanced back at me, with those eyes all molten silver. "Granger, don't move, we aren't done talking yet, and this shouldn't take long. I need to go over some menu revisions. Don't Move." I could hear the capitals as he turned from me, and had to fight the childish urge to wander, simply because he'd told me not to. With a sigh, I sank into a nearby chair to wait for him to re-appear.

(i)

Fleur was here.

I hadn't seen Fleur in months. Over a year actually. In fact, you could say that Magnus and I got together as a direct result of the last time I saw Fleur.

It had been at a Weasley family Christmas dinner, I'd come with my current beau, a man named Cable who I'd met at Flourish and Blotts only two months before, as we reached for the same book. _Chains: the History of the Enslavement of the House Elf._ We'd hit it off immediately.

Bill was there with Fleur, of course, their on-again, off-again relationship having spanned the better part of a decade, and finally settling into more on-again.

It was a real shock when Bill and Fleur had a huge row, over the roast goose, about the dangers involved in his job as a cursebreaker, and her desires for him to quit. It was even more of a shock when she got up from the dinner table, and left. With a bit of the Veela charm turned in his direction, Cable left with her.

She'd done it, of course, to get back at Bill… but had she had to take _my_ boyfriend to do it?

It was because of Cable's betrayal that I was dateless that New Years eve, and, rather than going out and making merry, I decided it would be a much more productive use of my time to get a little work done. That was why I happened to be in the office, when Magnus, who'd just been promoted to module leader, came in, a little tipsy, and a lot merry, to retrieve the wand that he'd left on his desk the day before.

Magnus and I had been flirty with each other before this, but it was different now.

We made love for the first time on his desk in a deserted office.

Two moths ago, I might have thanked Fleur, now, I just wondered if Magnus had shagged the secretary on that same desk.

God, just thinking about it made me ill.

(i)

True to his word, it didn't take Malfoy long to finish whatever problem had arisen over dinner, and soon, I saw him strolling back over to me, with Fleur latched onto one arm, as they talked.

I gave a snort. Fleur was statuesque. In her heels, she had to be at least six-foot-two. She towered over Malfoy by a good four inches. I wondered if he knew how ridiculous they'd look together… she leaned over to whisper in his ear, and he chuckled as they drew up to me.

Ridiculous.

Draco Malfoy and Fleur Delacour. They deserved each other.

""Granger, are you alright?" he asked, coming to a stop before me, and pulling his arm from Fleur's grasp, "you look as though you've eaten something that didn't agree with you, or smelled something really foul."

"Perhaps I have," I shot at him defiantly, and the playful grin that was on his face melted away to be replaced by a look that seemed to say, 'oh, right… should have expected that.'

"I should have expected that."

"Damn well right, you should have," I grumbled.

"That's what I needed to talk to you about, actually, you foul tempered minx. There will be none of that at tonight's event." He gave me a level stare to make sure that I understood. "As far as anyone knows, we're here together because we enjoy each other's company. The press will be here, and I don't like the idea of the whole country talking about how you and I couldn't keep from ripping at each other's throats. Best behavior, Granger."

"Hm, so I'm supposed to make nice with you for the evening, smile for your associates, and smile for the cameras? Don't you think that will look odd? I mean, a few years ago, I was adamantly trying to put you and your father into prison, and it was I who insisted the ministry keep looking into your affairs. And everyone knows I hate you."

"First of all, Granger, no, you don't. We've had this discussion already. Secondly, since you've had the ministry breathing down my neck off and on over the years, you should also know that they've found nothing. We've had _this _discussion before too. Ever since I took control, Malfoy International has been clean as a whistle, so get off your fucking high-horse. This isn't just for the cameras. If Salinger knows we aren't together because we want to be, what do you think he'll assume?" He extended his arm, and tapped me on the forehead with his index finger. "Be smart, Granger."

"Monsieur," Fleur whispered to him loudly enough so I could hear, "I think that I should go," and then she leaned in a bit further, and whispered something a bit more privately. Whatever it was, it made him smile.

It made _my_ skin crawl.

"Of course," he replied and slapped her bum playfully as she left out the front.

"Delightful girl," Malfoy said in an almost wistful tone, before turning back to me. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe we were laying down the ground rules for this evening, and while were at it, I have a few rules I'd like you to follow. Since every one is to be under the impression that you and I are a couple, then you had better not talk down to me again, or we'll suffer a very messy break-up. And another thing, keep it in your pants tonight."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, keep it in you bloody pants. You're worried about how it would look if we squabble on camera, well, think about how it would look for me if my date can't keep from trying to bed every female in the room. I expect you to exhibit some control."

"Believe me, Granger, I am. Right now, it's taking every ounce of control I have not to hex you into oblivion."

"The feeling's mutual."

He growled, then closed his eyes, muttering under his breath. He was on 'neuf' before I realized that he was counting to ten in French.

"Look," he said, after giving himself a shake, "this is getting us nowhere. Fine, I agree to your terms, I wont even look at another woman tonight, unless she's taking my drink order, which, by the way, I'll need a lot of, since I'm bloody well confined to your company. And you will manage to say my name so that it doesn't sound like some really foul insult. Can you do that?"

"I won't be expected to call you, 'Draco,' will I?"

He chuckled, "oh, God, no. Gives me the willies just hearing you say that… no, Malfoy should be fine, provided you can wipe that scowl off your face when you say it. I certainly don't plan to call you 'Hermione,' I'd never be able to keep it straight…"

"…Granger?"

"…Granger?"

"Huh?"

I snapped back to attention, and felt my face flush.

"Granger, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." But I wasn't. Not really. Malfoly said my name like it was a caress, rolling the syllables around on his tongue, tasting the letters before breathing them out into my ears, and it made me shudder in a not at all unpleasant way. Hearing him say my name gave me the creeps too. "Listen, Malfoy, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about Ridgeback. I've found a file…"

"Sh," he put his finger to my lips, silencing me, "remember, you aren't on the job right now. All work related questions will have to wait until after the opening." He gave me a playful smile, and outside the door, I could hear the press starting to show up, "right now, Granger, it's showtime."

(i)

"My, but you are a delightful young woman, aren't you?" Mr. Salinger was a thin man, older, but not old, thirty-five, maybe, with a deep tan, and dark hair streaked with silver. He was a man who smiled easily, and every time he smiled, it reached his sparkling hazel eyes.

He was really quite charming, and he'd been turning that charm on me for the last half-an-hour or so, to the consternation of his date, a blonde woman with too much make-up, and too little brains. Malfoy had started fidgeting, bouncing his knee and twirling his fork in the same manner I'd seen him twirling his wand.

"You're such a charmer, Mr. Salinger." I gave him my most charming smile.

Malfoy's jaw twitched.

Mr. Salinger reached a hand across the table, and clasped mine. "You really must come to the theater tomorrow, I have a private box."

Malfoy dropped his fork.

"Both of you," Mr. Salinger added, with a furtive glance in Malfoy's direction.

"I don't really think…" I began.

"No," Malfoy said tightly, "Miss Granger and I will be busy. Won't we, my dear."

"Well, maybe if," I was cut off as Malfoy kicked me gently beneath the table. I couldn't help the smile that found its way to my lips, "very busy, Mr. Salinger."

Salinger shrugged, and smiled, "as you wish, my dear."

Malfoy let out a sigh, and raised another fork full of duck to his lips.

A piano playing Jazz singer took the stage, and her voice, sweet and soulful, filled the room, effectively putting an end to all conversation. She was finishing up her first number, when, I felt it. Malfoy shifted a bit, leaned closer, and slipped an arm around my shoulder. I lifted my wine glass, and took a sip.

I did not shake his hand off.

It would have looked very bad on camera.

(i)

Well, that took a lot longer to get onto the computer than I had thought, especially since it's only about four-thousand words.

Hope everyone enjoyed this.

And Plastraa… still waiting.


	21. shall we dance

I squinted into the mirror at the frightful face squinting back. Hair a disaster (it never made it more than a few hours without need of attention, and my style from earlier was rushed at best, slipshod and sloppy at worst), Lipstick faded from wine to dusky pink, eye make-up smudging and… was that a _sauce stain_ on my dress?

"Oh dear," seemed to be the only appropriate thing to say, before I launched myself into an attempt to make myself presentable again. Although… I stayed my hand for a moment, poised as it was to _Scourgify_ the stain from my dress. It would be sort of amusing to leave myself in this state. Even at my most carefully powdered, polished and coifed, I wasn't the usual flavor of arm candy that accompanied Malfoy. My face was a bit too wide, by lips a bit too thin and my nose a bit too long. Not that I believed myself to be _ugly_. It was just that Malfoy's name had been associated with the likes of Fleur Delacour, and even his succession of assistants were all well above average. Being seen with me, rumpled as I am, was probably the equivalent of the average man being seen with Millicent Bulstrode.

Poor baby, I thought with a grin.

It would serve him right for dragging me to this event. After some passing mention of the business that he was conducting with Salinger at the start of the evening, he hadn't mentioned anything about the merger they were planning. Malfoy had told me I was there to help him judge Salinger's character, to observe him and look for tell tale signs that he was lying about the state of his business, but so farI hadn't learned anything I didn't already know from the case file. And how the hell was I supposed to determine whether Salinger was _lying_ about the state of his business, if they never discussed it?

Basically, this whole excursion had been utterly pointless.

Not only that, but I was beginning to suspect that the strain of 'making nice' with me was taking its toll on my beloved employer. Well, that wasn't exactly accurate. Stretching him to the breaking point was probably a much more accurate description. Malfoy had been getting increasingly irritable as the night wore on, and it wasn't so much what he said (we _were_ trying to present the image of a couple, after all), but the way he said it. Clipped, with a growing irritation, and a growing… _coldness._ Like he was trying to pretend like whatever it was that was bothering him, didn't bother him at all.

I snorted, Surely my company wasn't so distasteful.

And if it was, oh well. He could just learn to deal with it. This was _his_ idea, after all.

In fact, the only thing mildly redeeming about this evening had been Salinger. The man seemed absolutely riveted to me, and keenly interested in everything I had to say. I was used to being important, I suppose, and my opinions have always held a great amount of weight, both personally and professionally, but I'd never been the subject of such rapt attention (especially when someone as stunning as Salinger's date was in the near vicinity). Salinger, I thought, was a supremely charming man (though I'll admit it was my conceit that made me like the man so much).

Malfoy, however, wasn't.

No, that wasn't fair. It wasn't quite right, either. In truth, Malfoy was _very_ charming. I'd seen him _be_ charming. To other people, of course. And only when he wanted to be.

Never to me.

In fact, it was one of Malfoy's not-so-charming comments that sent me into the bathroom not five minutes ago, as he leaned his face in close to mine, stilling a laugh that a joke from Salinger had pulled from me only moments before. "Granger," he'd said, his breath vaguely wine tinted, but his speech perfectly sober "you're looking a bit acruffy, aren't you?"

Words whispered low, and spiteful, so only I could hear. I'd grit my teeth, and stomped on his foot, which gave me a small satisfaction, but I'd gotten up anyway, moments later to check my appearance. Which, I suppose brings me back to me, in the bathroom, cleaning my dress, re-applying my lipstick, wiping my eyes, and saying 'screw it' to the hair, which, as was its nature, resisted all attempts at style.

Stupid unpleasant little bastard, anyway. What was the big deal? It wasn't like he had to go home with me tonight. A few more hours, and he'd be off to his hotel with some strumpet (I wondered if he'd take Fleur to his suite, despite the fact that she was too tall for him, or if, perhaps, he'd get that new assistant of his to Apparate to his room) and I'd be back off to my flat so that I could apparate back here bright and early tomorrow to have the meeting I was _supposed_ to be having today.

Which reminded me. I _still_ had to ask Malfoy about Serena Geranium… Why was it that whenever we were together, I always ended up too busy reacting to his shenanigans to ask him what he knew about the mysterious employee that hunch told me was very much involved in what was going on at Ridgeback.

Must be some of that good old Malfoy Charm, I thought sarcastically.

I gave myself a final glance in the mirror, satisfying myself that I had returned myself to a tolerable state, and contemplated how I was going to get Malfoy alone so we could discuss my other assignment. He hadn't shown any inclination to leave the conversation at the table all night.

And that was another thing. If Salinger wasn't careful, Malfoy would take _his_ date back to the Malfoy suite tonight. Not that Malfoy had been overly flirty with the girl, after all, he had given me his word that he wouldn't embarrass me tonight by hitting on everything with cleavage, but considering his track record in the beautiful women department, he had to have noticed. and I'd seen him looking.

With a sigh, I turned to go.

And found my nose buried into the buttons of an expensive silk shirt when I tried to walk through the door.

A scent tickled my nose, and I inhaled on instinct. Spice. Pepper, clove, hint of what might be sandalwood. A not-unpleasant manly smell. Malfoy.

I blushed hotly as I realized I was… _sniffing_ him, but thankfully, he seemed not to notice my olfactory assessment.

"We need to talk." Came the all to serious voice of my irksome employer, as I planted my hands against his chest, and peeled my face off his buttons,

"Well, you might want to start with why you followed me into the ladies loo." Came my irritated reply.

"Ergh," he gave a damned fine impression of a game show buzzer "sorry Granger, that item's not on the table."

I sniffed, "I move to add it to the lists."

"Motion denied. Granger, what the hell was going on out there?"

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about?" he looked at me like I couldn't possibly be serious. "You can't possibly be serious. Don't play innocent with me Granger."

"Unlike some people, I have no need to _play_ innocent."

He gave a derisive chuckle. "I told you already, I'm clean, I've always been clean, and the reason you never ferreted out anything on me was because there was nothing to ferret."

"Interesting choice of words."

"Oh, shut up. And anyway, you aren't going to drag me off the subject. You don't want to believe me, then don't. But the least you could do is respect me, and for fuck sake, play by your own goddamned rules!"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"Want me to spell it out for you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "it's not like you to be so coy. Fine. No. Flirting. With. Other. People. _Your _fucking ground rule for tonight's little farce, and yet, what's the first thing you do? Cozy up to a man old enough to be your father, and spend the evening making eyes at him, and leaning over the table to flash your tits to him while you talk."

I felt like he'd just dumped a bucket of cold water over me. Or punched me in the stomach. It was like I'd had the wind knocked out of me, and I couldn't even draw a breath… and I couldn't remember when I'd been so offended. "_Mr._ Salinger was only interested in my conversation, and, unlike _some_ people, is capable for appreciating a woman for her mind."

"Granger, I was there. Believe me, it wasn't your _mind_ he was appreciating.."

"Bastard."

"Hey," he said, in a voice that exemplified stony anger "I call 'em like I see 'em."

"I'd make an appointment with an optician first thing when I got back if I were you."

Malfoy only had about four inches on me. Less even, since I was in heels tonight, so how he managed to _loom_ over me quite so threateningly was beyond me. Maybe it had something to do with his aura. There was a whole magical field that dealt with them. Manipulating them, and interpreting them, and what not. _I'd_ never been good at seeing them, but it was a fact that every living thing had one, and magical people and creatures had especially large and expressive auras.

Or maybe Malfoy had a touch of the megamorph magus power that his cousin had been gifted with.

Or Maybe he was just really, _really_, pissed off.

Either way, I found myself stifling an unconscious urge to shrink.

"There is _nothing _wrong with my eyes, and unless there is _something_ wrong with the eyes of ever other person on the entire western hemisphere, then they'll get their chance to see you on the cover of tomorrow's Daily Prophet, showing your wares to dirty old men. And all while sitting next to me. Did you ever stop to think for one moment how that might effect me?"

And suddenly I was dumbstruck. All that lovely anger I'd been feeling dissappated for a moment, and I was overcome by… well, I suppose it was awe for Malfoy's self-centeredness. Of course all he cared about was that millions of people might be seeing him overlooked for a man twice his age. He was worried about his _ego_.

Okay, I suppose I should have expected it, but I couldn't help but be a bit disappointed in him.

I mean what about me? What about the fact that if I actually _had_ been flirting with Salinger it would be considered not only unprofessional, but frankly, down right desperate.

Oh, wait a minute, there was that anger I thought I'd lost.

"You," I informed him, "are a complete wanker. I _wasn't_ flirting with him, but even if I was, I can't quite figure out why you're angry, Mr. Sleeps-with-all-his-assistants. I thought you would _encourage_ me to use assets other than my keen mind to get information out of him."

"That," he said, grabbing my by the shoulders, and giving me a little shake, "is _them. ._It isn't you. I never would have thought you capable…"

"But I'm _not_ don't you see. And anyway, there weren't any pictures taken, so there's nothing to worry about." I shrugged his hands off my shoulders, and turned a second time to leave, "and now, if you're finished hurling accusations, I'd like to get back to dinner." And I walked out briskly, leaving him fuming behind me.

At least, I hoped he was fuming. He certainly deserved it.

Outside the bathroom, the scene had changed a bit since I went in. Sometime after leaving the table, the dance floor had filled with people, and I found myself weaving through a crowd of people to navigate my way back to the table.

I was somewhere entrenched in the mob, when my hand was gripped roughly from behind in a smoother, stronger one, and I felt myeslf whipped around, and before I knew it, neatly tucked into the arms of Draco Malfoy, and swaying gently to the music.

"Our conversation was most assuredly_ not_ over, Granger," he informed me, but the anger from moments before had gone from his voice.

"What are you doing?" I asked, and was more than a little annoyed that I couldn't keep the breathiness out of my voice.

Isn't it obvious, Granger? I'm dancing with my old friend, my star employee, and…" he leaned in, and gave me a roughish grin "my date."

"We were never friends, Malfoy."

"Tom_ay_to, tom_ah_to."

"and correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you just horribly pissed with me?"

"I may have been, yes, but then _you_ were horribly pissed with _me._ And while that isn't exactly anything new, I do realize that it may be justified in this case. Perhaps I was… blinded by anger. Perhaps you really _did_ think his attention was platonic, but let me assure you, whatever your intentions, Salinger was keenly interested in the contents of your…"

"Okay!" I cut him off. "That's quite enough, Malfoy."

His shrug seemed to say 'suit yourself.' But the look in his eye was all triumphant smirk.

"Smug bastard," I mumbled into his shoulder.

"Sorry bastard, actually." And what shocked me the most about the admission was the fact that it _wasn't_ hard for him to say. "I really had no right to question your professionality."

"Perhaps not, but having no right has never stopped you before."

"Ouch, Granger." He said, with a theatrical wince. " remember, I'm trying to be nice here."

"sorry," I said, in my most unapologetic voice.

"No," he grinned, "you aren't." and then the music changed to something more like a tango, and I'd never been any good at that sort of thing, but Malfoy was an excellent lead, and I just followed him through the twists and turns, and we managed to come out right… well, except for one thing…

"Malfoy… um… can you put me down?"

As the tango had drawn to a close, he'd bowed my body over into a very deep dip. And now I was held, suspended over the floor by him. I was struck by how vulnerable the position left me, my body almost completely supported by the arm around my waist, leaving Malfoy with the power. He could pull me back up in an instant, the move would pull me into his chest, and doubtless, that was the idea, or he could drop me right there.

For a long time he did neither.

"Um… Malfoy… people are starting to stare."

"Let them," it came out in a husky whisper, as he leaned over. There was one terrifying moment when I thought that he might kiss me. But he just moved his mouth next to my ear, and it occurred to me that the move had been for show. Certainly, to anyone watching, it must have looked like he _had_ kissed me.

"Friends again?" he asked, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"I told you, we weren't friends before."

"hmm… so we weren't," and then he pulled me up, and set me on my feet at arms length. "well, non-hostile acquaintances, then?"

"Well, I don't know about 'non-ho…"

I trailed off, as he fixed me with the raised eyebrow look of skepticism.

"Fine." I relented, and couldn't really keep from grinning.

"Good, now, let's get back to our table,"

"I couldn't agree more," and with that, I turned, and took off in the direction I'd been headed when Malfoy'd pulled me aside.

And once again, he grabbed me and whirled me to face him. "not so fast," he mumbled, and ruffled my hair, foe a moment, I wasn't really sure _what_ he was doing, his hands were traveling familiarly over me, pulling the fabric of my dress strategically, then turning me around to untie, and retie the knot at the back of my neck, and I could tell it was re-done quite sloppily. It wasn't until he turned me back around to survey me, and I noticed he was in a similar state of disarray, that I realized what he was about.

"Malfoy, Salinger will thing we…"

"Good!" was his reply, and it stifled any protest I might have about the thing. Finally satisfied, he gave a nod, "alright, let's go."

And this time it was my turn to stop _him_.

"What is it, Granger?" he asked, as I placed my hands on him as he walked by me.

"I have questions, regarding Ridgeback… I keep forgetting to ask you, but it's rather important, I think."

"Can it wait?"

I frowned, " I suppose, but I already feel as though I've let this go on forever. I'd like to discuss it tonight, maybe after dinner. There has to be an all night coffee shop we can talk in before I apparate back to…"

"Wait, wait, wait. Granger, you aren't apparating anywhere."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'you aren't apparating anywhere.'"

"And _why, _pray tell, is that?"

"Because, Miss Granger, you've already done a blind distance apparation once today, and you're a smart enough witch to know that it takes a lot out of you. Plus you've been drinking. If the champagne doesn't get you splinched for your troubles tonight, then the exhaustion is likely to get you tomorrow, either in the morning when you come _back_ to Paris, or in the evening, when you go back home. It's ridiculous for you to go back home tonight, when I have already booked you a room in my hotel, and you can simply send out some suitable clothes tomorrow. On me, even, since you chose not to accept the dress I chose for you."

Malfoy, it would seem, was a lot more… logical than I'd expected. What he'd said wasn't untrue. I doubted that I would splinch myself, but Idid have to admit that the more I apparated back and forth, the higher my chances of it were.

But his _hotel_?

I agreed, rather reluctantly.

His response was to smile at me like I was an obedient child, and give me a 'listen to Daddy' pat on the head that made me want to snap his hand off at the wrist.

"We should be getting back."

"Yes," he seemed reluctant, "I suppose so."

I was struck by the thought that it hadn't been Fleur or that new assistant at all, but _me_ that he'd decided to take back to his hotel. More than a little amusing to me, and I couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, as he led me back to the table.

What could I possibly say in return except for 'nothing.'

And then we were back, and Salinger gave us a quick once over glance, taking in our arrival together, our sloppy states of dress, and my blush (which he no doubt misinterpreted,) and Gave Malfoy a tight lipped smile.

"Now," said Malfoy, as we took our seats, "Down to business…"

The rest of the conversation went well, and was very useful, with Malfoy steering it expertly back to some aspect of the business, and I observing, and making mental notes of Salinger's speech patterns, and how he fidgeted, and the dilation of his pupils, and deduced that , while he was not lying about the success of his business on the whole, there weren't as many good future projects in R&D, and he was most likely counting on Malfoy's money to allow for the funding of such projects.

None of these were things that, in my opinion, should effect Malfoy's decision to purchase the company, and I told him so, on a carriage ride to our hotel.

XxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxx

Whew, it's over… not a particularly long chapter, and I suppose I could have gone blow by blow on the following conversation with Salinger, but I'm not exactly a business major, so I have a feeling I'd have trouble making the dialog sound interesting… oh well.

Sorry this was so long in coming, and to everyone who read this chapter on the 2nd, and then waited for the midnight update, sorry this is even later… see, I tried to take a nap after work, and ended up sleeping through… oh well.

The following tidbit is a teaser for chapter 22, which should be posted in about three weeks, (or as soon as school and work lets me.)

XxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxxXxxx

I groaned, and buried my face into my pillow.

Nope, that didn't work.

I tried pulling the coverlet up over my head, and stuffing the pillow over my ears…

That was a bust as well.

With an exasperated sigh, I sat up in bed. There really was nothing for it, I thought, and gritted my teeth. And then I thought 'God damn him, he knew I was supposed to get up early tomorrow,' but how was _anyone_ supposed to sleep with the enthusiastic moans drifting through the walls. French moans, I realized, as I pressed my ear to the wall.

Fleur maybe? Or maybe just some random hussy he'd picked up in the hotel bar. I wondered briefly when he'd found the _time_, after our conversation. But then again, I supposed Malfoy made it a point to find the time.

Well, whatever his habits, there was no way I was letting him keep me up!

With a huff, I was out of bed, and pounding on the connecting door.

"Cast a silencing charm, at least, you inconsiderate, fu- oh, fuck!"

I was cut short, as he ripped the door open. I was unfortunately leaning on it at the time, and so I came spilling into his room, landing in a heap on the floor.

"Ow," I managed, but I didn't move to pick myself back up just yet.

"Granger, are you alright?"

With the door open, the noise was much louder, and I wondered about that for a moment, until I saw the flickering light from the television set.

"Oh!" was all I could say. I had to wonder what the odds were that I'd walk in on two _different_ men, neither of whom I was dating, watching porn in a week.

"Um… You know there's a volume adjust setting on that thing." I couldn't believe I'd just said that, especially since all I _realy _wanted to do was sink into the floor. And I thought it was embarrassing when it was just Harry…

(there you go, just a little snippet. The chapter isn't quite done yet, but I wouldn't put in the juciest bit anyway… gotta save something for the release… it's like a trailer in that respect, I suppose. Hope it has you guys interested.)


	22. a little playful banter

The steady downpour that had plagued me upon my apparation into Paris had slowed to a light drizzle by the time Malfoy and I exited the restaurant. The last of the guests had gone long before, and the long line of carriages that had been waiting to whisk away one wealthy patron or another had dwindled to just two.

A cherry wood one with gold ornamentation that I took to be Fleur's because of the crest (a beautiful woman holding a lily). The other one was unmistakably Malfoy's. All black except for the windows which were curtained in steel gray that perfectly matched Draco's eyes when he was angry.

It was surprising what an attractive color it was. _When _it wasn't on Malfoy, of course.

He lead me to the carriage, then opened the door for me, and I was on the verge of thanking him for his gentlemanly behavior, when he stepped in before me, made himself comfortable on one of the seats, and opened a bottle of champagne he must have slipped off at some point, and told the driver to have chilled. Or, more likely, he hadn't ordered the champagne especially for this evening, as there were two glasses sitting next to the ice bucket. With a snort, I climbed in, wondering how many women he'd driven around in this carriage, and whether the driver had a standing order to keep champagne chilled for 'Master Malfoy' and his lady friends, or if he was simply anticipating his employer's needs.

Not that it mattered… not that I cared, or anything. In fact, I was just dying to get back to our hotel so that I could shower, and get some sleep.

At the thought I had to give a laugh. Imagine explaining _that_ statement to Harry and Ron.I pictured Harry's face, ashen, and slack-jawed as he muttered "_bugger me sideways," _some other such phrase of astonishment, and tried to decide if there was another way of interpreting the phrase 'our hotel,' that didn't have anything to do with Malfoy and I staying in the same Hotel. Ron, on the other hand, would screw his face up in distaste, saying 'see, I _told_ you it was a date.'

The whole mental image was a bit too much, and I couldn't repress a chuckle.

Of course, Malfoy took it all wrong. Turning his face to me, as he tipped his glass upside down to catch the last golden drops of liquid, he scowled slightly. "what, may I ask, is it that you find so amusing, Granger?"

"You may ask," I replied, as I stepped up into the interior, and settled myself opposite him, in a seat upholstered in charcoal velvet. In fact, the interior of the carriage was all done in shades of blues and grays. It had a very… tranquil feel. I was amused that Malfoy would choose to decorate anything tranquilly.

"You," he grinned, "are too coy tonight." He settled back into his seat as we started to move, and regarded me with a sly smile. "It's really quite unlike you."

"Don't be silly, Malfoy. I meant to answer you, but I was struck dumb by the interior of this carriage." I indicated around me with a sweep of my hand.

"Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

"Ass, I only meant that it has an almost relaxing feel… I never would have pegged you for the type."

He chuckled, "I'm not. You can thank Fleur for the color scheme. She decorated this carriage."

Fleur again. "She seems to do a lot for you. Events coordinator, interior designer…" and part-time lover, I'd wager. God, aside from her looks, her intelligence, and her ability to mesmerize weak-minded men with her Veela charms, what did so many guys see in her?

I had the sudden urge to strangle myself on the curtain string.

Malfoy only chuckled, his eyes twinkling amusement. "_Jealous_ Granger?"

"No," I returned flatly.

"Don't worry, I promise you can decorate the next one."

"Gee, thanks… wow, what an honor," I deadpanned.

"You might not enjoy it, but I bet you'd be and excellent decorator… despite the rather unfortunate state of your flat."

"No one _asked_ you to come to my flat, did they?"

"You have a complex," he went on, as though I hadn't spoken. "You're a compulsive overachiever. I think you're incapable of giving less than 100 in anything. Perhaps it's out of a need to prove yourself, or fill the empty void in your life…"

"That is quite enough, Mr. Pop-psychology."

"I suppose I should know better than to goad someone in such a fragile mental state, you never know when they are going to snap," he illustrated this with a snap of his long, deft fingers.

"It's never stopped you before, Malfoy."

"You know me too well, Granger."

"Know thy enemy."

"Sound advice," he conceded with a nod, "how would you like the chance to get to know me even better?" he asked, offering me the glass of champagne he'd just poured.

I sensed danger in his smile, and my inner voice was telling me to tread with caution. I declined him with a nervous shake of my head.

He broke into a low chuckle that raised goose bumps along my arms. And not proper, fearful goose bumps, but shamefully excited goose bumps. I flushed to rival a Weasley.

"Granger, Granger, Granger," he said, his tone mock-admonishing, "What am I going to do with you, huh?"

What indeed? "Don't even think about it," I advised him.

"Think about what?" he asked, grey eyes wide with mock-innocence, while a contrasting sly smile played upon his lips. While I watched, they twisted themselves into an 'O' of faux realization. "My, my, Granger, what a deliciously dirty little mind you have. Such a pleasant surprise! But unfortunately, my Beautiful, this is still a business trip, and I'm afraid that such… activities are out of the question, so mind out of the gutter."

"Malfoy," I growled dangerously, "first of all, you know that's not what I meant, and second of all, since when have you been concerned about separating business and pleasure." He opened his mouth, and I just knew I wasn't in the mood to handle whatever it was that was about to come out of it. I mean, for god's sake, I'd just spent _hours_ being more or less civil to him, the last thing I needed was to deal with more of his bullshit.

"Get to the point," I ordered.

Malfoy's grin did not waver. "Relax, Granger, this is called 'playful banter,' and I find that many women enjoy it."

"Your playful banter is meant only to mock," I replied with a snort, "besides, I have no wish to engage you in playful _anything_. Usually, when you get playful, it means that you've just found a new and interesting way to humiliate, and/or annoy me."

"Suspicious girl," he intoned, his voice now low, and soothing, and dangerously enjoyable.

"Of you? Always."

"I only wondered if you might like to join me for a drink before we head off to bed."

I laughed. Well, what else was I supposed to do? I mean, this was _Malfoy_ "Why, in God's name, would you think that subjecting ourselves to each other any further would be a good idea? I don't think-"

"That's it, Granger, don't think. Just come to the hotel lounge with me, sit down, order something feminine and fruity, and sip it while I sit across from you. I'll even be on my best behavior."

"Your best behavior?" I asked with a snort. He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Draco Malfoy's _best_ behavior. What exactly does _that_ mean?"

"You," he informed me with amusement, "are an awfully surly little girl."

"In that case, why do you even _want_ me there?"

He gave me a half smile, "because, I want another drink before bed, and there's nothing quite so lonely as drinking alone. The experience should be reserved for the very old, the very depressed, and the very heart-broken."

"Oh, I can't imagine you'd be alone for long. One flash of your pocket book, and the jackals would be upon you," I sneered.

"No need to get nasty just because women have the unfortunate habit of throwing themselves at my feet."

"Hmph," seemed the only appropriate reply to that statement.

"Does that mean you'll come?"

"God, you're relentless… alright, fine! I needed to talk to you about Ridgeback anyway."

"Alright," he said, drinking the glass of champagne he'd poured, and giving me a smile. "I suppose that's fair. You give me something I want, I give you something you want."

"Except that the thing that I want, I only want because I need it to do the job you gave me."

"Touché," He threw his hands up in mock surrender. Then poured himself another glass.

"Um… Malfoy… don't you think you should… slow down a bit? We are going to go out for a drink after all."

He drained his glass with flourish, "no harm in helping it along," he informed me.

"Perhaps," I said, in a tone I'll admit was a _bit_ snotty, "you should answer my questions now, before you're too far gone to string together words, and form sentences."

"Granger, it would take more than half a bottle of champagne, and a few glasses of wine to make me incomprehensible."

"You're already incomprehensible."

"Then how will you know the difference?"

"God, you're infuriating!" I informed him.

"I thought I was incomprehensible," he replied in feigned confusion.

"The two are _not_" I growled "mutually exclusive."

He raised an eyebrow, but set his glass down, untouched. "You want to ask me, ask me."

"Who is Serena Geranium."

He froze.

"What."

"Who is..."

"I know what you said," he spoke over me, "But I don't understand how you managed to get that name."

I got that _on the right track_ tingle again. "does it matter where the information came from?"

"I fucking _told_ Cletis to clean out that old file cabinet." The change in his personality was startling. I admit that I'd been in rare form since he stepped into the carriage, and he'd handled it in stride, never once loosing his cool, or that faint edge of amusement. He was no longer amused.

"Who is she?"

"_She_ was an employee, I fired her. End of story."

"That's motive," I said.

"Jesus, Granger, and you called _me_ relentless. Look, it wasn't Serena Geranium, alright. You'd do well to just save you're time. And pay attention for once. Serena couldn't have done this."

"Serena?" Was she another of his… his… "So cozy with her? Must have known her pretty well."

"No, I didn't, as a matter of fact. We barely knew each other."

He barely knew her? God, that only made it worse. "God you're disgusting."

"_Me_? What the hell are you talking about, Granger?"

"She was just another one of your disposable dolls, wasn't she? Like your never ending stream of assistants. God you make me sick."

"I make you sick?" he laughed, and his voice was cold; seeming to say 'why should I care about that?'. "why is that?"

"You use them to fill that empty space on the bed next to you, so that you can have a warm body to lie beside. So that you can forget the fact that you lead an empty, meaningless life; you're a bully and no one loves you." It may have been the cruelest thing I've ever said, and I hope that I never say anything more hurtful.

I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd struck me. But I should have known better. He did muck worse.

He spoke, his voice was hollow and exposed, and the sound of it reached into my chest, and closed it's fist around my heart."

"Yes," he said, "is that so wrong? For one person to loose themselves in another, and forget for one moment how fucking _alone_ they are? Jesus Christ, Granger, you might want to try it yourself sometime, and give the rest of us a break."

"Christ, Malfoy… I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I shouldn't have said that. It was…"

"True? I've never lied to any of the women I've slept with. They've always known that for me, they were just temporary. And I've never lied to myself either. They were there because they were a bit of fun. That's all. But I've always said that when I was ready to" and he pulled a face here, like a ten-year-old confronted with a much despised piece of broccoli, "_settle down_, I mean that once I'm _ready _to start making promises to someone, I'm not going to break them."

He was acting all too serious. I couldn't remember ever seeing him that way. "Malfoy?"

"Forget it… perhaps I have had a bit too much to drink. On second thought, I'll take your advice and take a pass on that drink."

I sighed with relief as his mood turned to something more like normal. "Finally, some sensible talk," I tried to be sharp, but my voice shook a little, and I was almost positive he heard me.

"Usually all the sensible talk comes from you. Are you jealous, Granger?"

"Prat." I informed him, as the rocking of the carriage slowed.

"I really did barely know her." And he smiled as I quirked an eyebrow at that, "And no, I didn't sleep with her either. For fuck sake Granger, if you'd done your research you would have known that Serena Geranium was nearly 15 years older than us. And she wasn't really my type." He grinned, "her hair was too fucking bushy."

My quirked eyebrow came down to furrow with its mate, as I gave him a scowl.

"Looks good on you, though." He said, smiling crookedly as the carriage stopped altogether. He hesitated for a moment. Before sliding from his seat, and pressing something into my hand.

"your key," his breath was wine sweet, and I could feel it on the skin of my cheek as he pulled his mouth back from my ear. "I'll be right next door if you need anything."

And then he did the most shocking thing of all. He pressed a chaste kiss into my forehead, and disapparated with a crack.

I didn't move from the spot until the driver came back to see that everything was alright.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

I groaned, and buried my face into my pillow.

Nope, that didn't work.

I tried pulling the coverlet up over my head, and stuffing the pillow over my ears…

That was a bust as well.

With an exasperated sigh, I sat up in bed. There really was nothing for it, I thought, and gritted my teeth. And then I thought 'God damn him, he knew I was supposed to get up early tomorrow,' but how was _anyone_ supposed to sleep with the enthusiastic moans drifting through the walls. French moans, I realized, as I pressed my ear to the wall.

Fleur maybe? Or maybe just some random hussy he'd picked up in the hotel bar. I wondered briefly when he'd found the _time_, after our conversation. But then again, I supposed Malfoy made it a point to find the time.

Well, whatever his habits, there was no way I was letting him keep me up!

With a huff, I was out of bed, and pounding on the connecting door.

"Cast a silencing charm, at least, you inconsiderate, fu- oh, fuck"

I was cut short, as he ripped the door open. I was unfortunately leaning on it at the time, and so I came spilling into his room, landing in a heap on the floor.

"Ow" I managed, but I didn't move to pick myself back up just yet.

"Granger, are you alright"

With the door open, the noise was much louder, and, as Malfoy was in front of me (I was practically laying on his feet) and obviously not involved in any… um… _rigorous_ activities, I wondered about that for a moment, until I saw the flickering light from the television set.

"Oh" was all I could say. I had to wonder what the odds were that I'd walk in on two _different_ men, neither of whom I was dating, watching porn in a week.

"Um… You know there's a volume adjust setting on that thing." I couldn't believe I'd just said that, especially since all I _really _wanted to do was sink into the floor. And I thought it was embarrassing when it was just Harry…

My mind went back to that moment just before he dissapparated from the carriage, and I had to wonder if perhaps I had imagined it. He certainly didn't act like there was anything wrong, and surely, if he'd … you know… kissed me, well something would be wrong.

But then again, perhaps I'd read too much into it. Perhaps he was just tipsy, and feeling, er, friendly, and well… it was a stupid reason to lie awake for hours. The fact of the matter was, that if I'd been able to get myself to sleep an hour and a half ago, then I'd never have heard his… his… adult movie.

"Malfoy… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, er, barge in like this. It's just that…"

He leaned against the doorframe, and regarded me with amusement. "It's really alright, Granger. I see what's going on here… you find me irresistible."

I gasped in shock, "you arrogant little ponce! On the contrary, I find you _quite _resistible." I informed him.

"Is that so?" his voice was light, and amused, and edged with a challenge.

I let the look in my eyes speak for me, 'I am not in the mood for your games.'

Apparently something was lost in the translation, because a moment later, he had me caged between his arms, his palms spread against the door he'd closed so fast I hadn't even registered his movements. His breath fanned my face as the ever present moans drifted over from the television set.

He was unphased as he moved forward. "Granger," he breathed a split second before his lips came down on mine.

I think that he was just as surprised as I was. He looked so confused when he pulled his head back again.

I didn't really have time to find out, though, as the moment my hand found the door handle, I yanked it open and stepped back into my own room.

I barely got a wink of sleep for the rest of the night, although there were no more noises from next door. I spent the long hours, watching the door, which I didn't lock. He didn't so much as try the handle. Finally just before dawn, I fell into a restless sleep, and again, I dreamed of hands.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Ah… the much anticipated kiss. Well, wonder what's going to happen now, don't you?

Anyway, I've gotten quite a few reviews from people with theories about Omen. I have very specific ideas about what he is, and up until now, I've sort of left his nature ambiguous, but I was just wondering what people thought about him.

Also of course, I'm always glad to hear constructive criticism, though it may be a while before I act on some of them (revisions _are_ being done, but unless there's something I _really_ hate about the chapter, I usually don't get around to posting revisions, because I never find myself done revising) too bad though, because writing is re-writing, and I definitely consider the peer-review stage an integral part of the process.

Anyway, special thanks to mouse, who gave me a heads up on an update for a fic I've been following on AFF called Dragon's Bride… for mature audiences only, though, guys. All I can say is you must either be the author of the fic, or pay really close attention to who's reviewing what you read.

Oh, and of course, standard begging for Plastraa to update any of her stories… come on, it's been forever!


	23. Repercussions

I awoke, not with the gradual coming into being that usually accompanies the act of letting oneself sleep until waking, but with a sudden and low-grade panic of the 'where the fuck am I' variety.

I'd been dreaming of being eaten. More specifically, being swallowed head first by an enormous python, while it's coils choked the life out of me, and woken tangled in the lavender scented linen of hotel sheets.

The Freudian symbolism was not lost on me.

Also, it was pretty obvious that my little therapy session was not the answer to the disturbing dreams issue.

Big yawn, then a glance at the alarm on the night stand… which was still blinking 8:00 am because I'd apparently forgotten to finish setting it last night. Lovely.

Well after 8, then, I thought, and a glance at the wall clock across the room confirmed it. 9:15, it read, and I felt my panic shit from 'where the fuck am I,' to 'I'm so fucking late,' before it occurred to me that I didn't really have anything to be late for.

I wouldn't be given another assignment for the next few days…

By now I was out of bed, operating on some primal impulse to fulfill my daily caffeine requirement, and had already emptied a packet of hotel coffee into a hotel filter, and was currently filling the reservoir of a hotel coffee maker with hotel tap water. There was something nagging at the back of my head, something I needed to do this morning, but I'd slept so badly last night that I couldn't quite get my mind to focus on whatever it was. I was hopeful that the coffee would help.

I brewed the first few ounces directly into the mug, and downed the super strong sludge as quickly as its temperature would allow. The effects were nearly instantaneous.

Gremlins, I remembered, as my vaporous thoughts condensed into something like cognition, and a meeting with a French gremlin expert that I was planning to have today regarding the behavioral oddities of the Ridgeback gremlins.

I smiled, more and more like myself every moment. Caffeine was a beautiful thing.

But I'd initially intended to meet him at 10, and that meant I needed to hurry. I downed the rest of my coffee and earned myself a burned tongue for my trouble… at least I'd be conscious at the meeting, though.

I set about getting ready. As much as it pained me to do so, I chose to forgo my shower in favor of getting to Monsieur de Carvier's office on time. I was a good thing that Malfoy'd convinced me to stay in Paris last night, or there was no way I'd have time to be ready.

Oh bugger.

Thinking about him made me realize that I'd been actively trying _not_ to think about him all morning.

Malfoy.

It was instantly disturbing to me the frequency with which his name had become a paragraph in my vocabulary.

It occurred to me that I gave him far too much thought.

And speaking of thought, what the _hell_ had he been thinking last night? I mean… he… he had…

_Closed mouth.__ Barely more than a whisper of a touch._

I couldn't help the shiver that worked its way up my spine at the memory… and my immediate reaction? Retreat.

Malfoy.

There was that paragraph again.

Perhaps, I comforted myself, he was simply drunk, and randy, and not thinking too clearly. Perhaps any woman who'd come along would have done the trick (this wasn't nearly as comforting as I'd thought it would be.) He'd probably just as soon forget it had ever happened, now that he was sober, and thinking clearly (this was even less of a comfort.)

I should have been angry at the violation (when had I ever given him any indication that I'd be interested) or offended at his presumption (who did he think I was, some sort of floozy?) The truth was really scary. The truth was… I didn't know _how_ I felt about that kiss.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't know how I felt about Draco Malfoy.

One thing I did know was that I was in no hurry to see him after last night's fiasco. I was in no hurry to see him again until I could be absolutely positive of my ability to hate him. It was just so much less confusing that way. And the last thing I needed was the complication of not hating Malfoy, not hating Malfoy was the sort of thing that could tilt the world on its axis.

Okay, so there was really no way of getting around the fact that I no longer hated him, no matter how much I protested it, but I still found him irritating, self-centered, arrogant, and rude… surely that counted for something… surely…

I stopped myself right there. I didn't have time for this… see that was why it was so much easier to hate Malfoy, hate was much simpler than this grudging respect/irritation/whatever else thing I felt now, and I was in far too big a hurry to have time to analyze it. I still had to get out of here and meet M. De Carvier and as I'd intended to go home, I hadn't bothered to bring a change of clothes.

I needed that energy I was expending on Malfoy in order to focus. I had never been any good with fashion, and alteration spells were lost on me. I managed to shorten my dress into a fashionable top, but the pants I transfigured from the bed linens were more serviceable than fashionable.

A glance at the mirror confirmed that, while certainly not _ideal_ the ensemble would do. And then I was out the door, and down the hall as quickly as my legs could carry me. Naturally, there were apparition wards all over this hotel, and I needed to get to the lobby and an apparition zone if I wanted to make it to my meeting on time.

I was down the hall so fast, that I didn't even see Malfoy leaning against his door, so it came as a complete surprise when a call of "Granger!" reached my ears.

I froze mid-step, with my back to him, and even realizing how dangerous it was to have my back to a Slytherin, I couldn't bring myself to turn around. Hadn't I just gotten through thinking that I didn't have the energy to deal with him after last night? When did I get so damned lucky?

"What?" If the word were tangible, it would have been made of solid ice.

And it was returned with a chuckle.

"For Christ's sake, Granger, turn around."

It occurred to me how silly it was for me not to. I mean, what had I to be afraid of? I complied.

He was leaning one shoulder against the door, his wine colored shirt bunching where it met the wood, one hand shoved into black trousers, while the other ran through shower-damp hair. And no visible signs of the hangover he so richly deserved.

I hated that he managed to look so impeccable. And made _looking_ that way look so easy.

Lucky bastard.

"Thought you'd slip away without having to see me?" he questioned with a sly smile.

My stomach did a quick roll and dip to the right. Was I that transparent?

But more importantly, why was I letting him get to me?

_A brush, like the flutter of a butterfly's wing.__ Warm, soft lips…_

I gave myself a mental shake. This wasn't as big a deal as I was making it, surely. Malfoy must have kissed thousands of women, certainly last night wasn't special. And I… well, I'd been kissed better and by people I liked a _hell_ of a lot more. This was _nothing_ and I sure as hell wasn't going to let it turn into _something_.

"Actually," and I was quite proud of the clipped, uncaring tone of my voice, "I was on my way to an appointment."

His brow quirked, "oh, and what appointment is that?"

"Gremlin expert." I reminded him.

"Ah, yes… how very like you."

What was _that _supposed to mean?

"Malfoy, I have work to be doing," I said with a sniff, and would have turned on my heel, if he hadn't moved so fast.

He closed the distance between us in and instant, and kept me turned toward him with a firm hand on my shoulder. His smile attempted harmless, and failed miserably. "relax Granger. Don't get so huffy. I only meant that it was like you to wake up and Paris and immediately think of work." He turned me now, throwing his arm over my shoulder in a chummy manner, and walking me toward the lift. "I suppose," he continued, his grin leaving off harmless in favor of devilish, "that I should be damned glad you work for me."

"You're awfully chipper this morning," I grumbled, throwing off his arm, though continuing to walk beside him.

Now he was positively grinning, "I can't help it," he said, as we drew to a stop outside the lift, and he pressed the call button. As we waited for it to arrive, he turned his grin to me, "I slept well."

Good thing one of us did.

I wondered if his peaceful night had had anything to do with the activity I'd caught him engaged in… and felt the instant and powerful urge to wash my brain.

God, I hoped he didn't notice my blush.

It seemed forever before the elevator arrived, and I was more than a little irritated at Malfoy's insistence on accompanying me to the lobby.

I couldn't apparate out soon enough.

(iiiiiIiiiiii)

I'm back every one! More to come later. I thought I'd get the difficult 'dealing with the kiss' thing over and done with, and then move the plot along.

Sorry for the long absence, by the way… I was incredibly bogged down at school, plus I was having the sort of roommate issues that kept me awake at night. Let's just say that it wasn't the sort of environment that was conducive to creativity, and leave it at that. Now I'm out for the summer, and can't wait to get back to this story… I hope that this will be enough for now…

And tippietoes, I'm holding you to that!


	24. carlise

"Lunch, Granger?"

Trapped in a lift with Draco Malfoy on an all too slow descent toward the lobby, the safe apparition zone and freedom, I was feeling damned claustrophobic.

I suppose that's why it took so long to formulate a reply.

"Huh?"

"Lunch… you know," he grinned with half his mouth while the other half twisted wryly, "that thing that comes between breakfast and dinner… involves the consumption of food… usually takes place around noonish…" he supplied, raising his eyebrows mockingly.

I resisted the urge to hex those eyebrows off his face.

"I _know_ what lunch is, Malfoy." I replied irritably. "I simply didn't see what it had to do with _me_."

"I assume you eat it." He paused now, leaning against one mirrored wall of the lift, and regarding me with that amused look I had so grown to _love_.

"Get to the point." I had, before his sudden mention of food, been forced to listen to him whistle tunelessly down twelve floors, and had long since passed the point of being able to tolerate his bullshit with a smile (not that I was _ever _able to tolerate his bullshit with a smile).

"I rather thought that you would already have worked that out for yourself."

Indeed, I _had_ worked it out for myself, and wasn't terribly fond of what I'd come up with. I gave him a look that hoped conveyed the message 'indulge me.'

He chuckled, and shifted, pushing off from the wall to loom over me in a manner that threatened something quite different than bodily harm. "The point, Granger, is that I thought today you should eat it with me."

I took a step backward, and tried to make my laugh _not_ sound nervous. "Oh, I think not, Mr. Malfoy."

"_Mr._ Malfoy?" He asked, his voice pitched high and mocking before sliding back down into his normal smooth and smoky bourbon tones. "So formal." He pursued my as I retreated until my back was pressed against the handrail on the wall.

"Come on, Granger," he said, coaxingly, "it would give us a chance to discuss any progress you've made in your investigations."

I… I really didn't think I should spend any more time with him.

"Actually, I'm expected back in London." And I prayed he couldn't tell I was lying.

And then he was so close I could feel his breath in my ear. "Liar."

I swallowed my retort, as he took a step back. It seemed more important at that moment that I breathe.

He regarded me with that air of amusement that had never failed to get under my skin before. Like he was holding all the cards, or more like I was playing the mouse to his white-haired cat.

I snorted.

"Alright, you're needed back in London," his tone _clearly_ indicating that he believed nothing of the kind, "not a work thing, obviously, or I'd know about it." He raised one eyebrow. "It isn't a hot date, is it?"

"Wouldn't be you're business if it were."

"True… but it isn't. Not if you plan to wear those hideous things." He ran his eyes up and down me, taking in my outfit. "Are those bed linens?"

"Yes, they are," my look challenged him to make something of it… unfortunately, it seemed Malfoy liked a challenge.

It was his turn to snort now. "Figures, I thought that outfit looked particularly bad."

"Excuse me?"

"Come on Granger, you always were crap at alteration spells."

I managed an indignant 'harrumph.' It was true, but it _still_ irked.

"Why, on earth, did you go through the trouble… there's a boutique in the lobby. Didn't I tell you to pick out something pretty and charge it to my room?"

"You may have said something to that effect."

"So… why didn't you?"

I was hoping to avoid this question. Telling your employer that you'd rather dress in a bed sheet than run the risk of seeing him couldn't do much for a working relationship.

"I didn't have time," I muttered lamely. It wasn't untrue, it just wasn't the reason.

"hm…" he replied shoving his hands into his pockets, and rocking back on his heels.

Around this time it occurred to me that it was taking an unduly long time to reach the lobby.

"Oh, surely it doesn't look _that_ bad, Malfoy."

He tilted his head to the side. "It doesn't suit you."

"And since when do _you_ care what suits me?" I grumbled.

He smiled enigmatically, and at that moment the doors slid open.

"12:30, Granger," he called over his shoulder, "meet me back here, in the lobby." And then he was gone, with only a "wear something presentable!" tossed back over his shoulder.

I had expected the world's foremost expert on Gremlin behavior to be frail and bookish, with wild white hair, and thick-rimmed glasses. Jaques De Carvier was none of those things.

Instead he was stern-jawed, and sharp-eyed, and had the look of a man that could still climb Kilimanjaro even if he had been retired over four years.

He regarded me now, from the other side of his cherry wood desk, squinting those eagle eyes at me as he listened to my improbable tale, at the end of which, he simply laughed.

"Impossible."

"But monsieur," I began, "I assure you-"

"What," he interrupted, looking amused, "do you know about gremlins?"

"Well," I began, a bit hesitantly, "I know they're attracted to technology. I know that they need to feed off the electricity in equipment to survive… I also know they don't usually destroy their food source completely, just… nibble on it a bit, I suppose. They must have been desperate to completely destroy my notebook."

"Yes, they would have been very very desperate, and not only from starvation." He pause to steeple his hands in front of his face. "Let me tell you a little something that you might _not_ know about Gremlins. They are a created species. They were first developed during WWI… now surely you know that, typically, we wizards like not to get too deeply involved with muggle political struggles, but in this first great war, the wizarding community was divided.

"A group of research wizards came up with breed of gnome that went after wiring the same way that it's garden variety cousin went after roots. It had none of the usual fey weakness to iron, but it _did _have another weakness."

"Wood," I said "certain types… ash, and oak, for example… just like other fey creatures."

"No, not _just_ like other fey creatures, _more_ than other fey creatures. Any type of wood is slow poison to them. They'd die of that before starvation, and without the electricity, they'd never be able to heal themselves when they were exposed. Any gremlins on the property would flee long before now."

"But sir… I mean, couldn't they be trained? I mean, if someone were caring for them… feeding them and housing them during the day, and sending them up there at night… wouldn't _that_ work?"

He shook his head, "you don't understand, their intelligence is not human by any stretch, but they are hardly animals as well. They are intentionally willful, and stubborn, and they are _not_ animals to be trained."

He apparently felt quite strongly on this point, because his voice had been rising steadily for the last few minutes and by the time he was finished, he was a bit red in the face. I understood how he felt, though. Suggesting that these intelligent beings (albeit _low_ intelligent beings) could be trained to perform like circus animal was an appalling thought. Who could do such a thing… violating a creature's rights like that. That was how I felt about house elves.

I took a different tactic.

"Suppose," I ventured, "suppose that, since they are beings capable of rational thought, however limited that thought might be, that they were given a choice. Ridgeback is located in the middle of nowhere by necessity. The nearest town is a two mile walk, and even then, it's a wizarding town. The next closest town is much, much farther. Far enough away that it might be possible for a human to convince this band of gremlins that it would be too far for them to travel… and then, if this person had something to feed them… batteries, maybe. It would be easy to keep them in line if the choice was 'do as I command or starve to death.'"

"I suppose that it _would_ be possible… but not very likely. Their attention spans are short, they'd probably forget, and wander off before too long."

"But it _is_ possible."

"I guess."

"Thank you Monsieur. One more question before I go."

He regarded me warily before asking, "and if I don't give the answer you like, will you browbeat me again until I give a more satisfactory one?"

I blushed, and shook my head. "It isn't that type of question, Monsieur."

"Very well, ask away."

"Rich Tourdy… what did you think of him?"

"Rich? Oh, he was a good boy… natural with magical creatures. His family, I hear, once owned a dragon ranch."

"He was a good boy?" I asked again, hopefully.

Jaques nodded, "and _now_ he's a good _man_."

I smiled. That was just what I wanted to hear.

Outside of De Carvier's office, I sighed and stretched. I had confirmed a few of my suspicions, but overall, I hadn't really learned anything terribly useful. I didn't see how any of this new information was going to help me solve this before Malfoy's next stupid assignment.

I felt all too weary. I hadn't, after all, gotten very much sleep last night, and by now, I was simply exhausted. The prospect of apparating home seemed wearisome and potentially dangerous at the moment, but unfortunately, finding a public floo seemed just as daunting. Besides, I was also quite hungry.

Which made me think of lunch.

Which made me think of my 12:30 appointment with my very own agent of chaos.

I wondered briefly what he'd been doing all day in Paris, while I was out chasing leads. 'Probably making time with some local bimbo,' I thought, and savagely attacked a rock with the toe of my shoe, sending it hurtling through space. Maybe he was off with Fleur somewhere, and I wondered maliciously when she was going to just _divorce_ Bill already, and end this stupid separation thing.

At least then Malfoy wouldn't be off with a _married _woman (a new low, even for him).

A growl ripped its way from my throat. My god, he was so frustrating. So base. So devoid of anything _resembling _restraint. So… so…

I stopped in my tracks, my fingers tracing my lips in and imitation of a feather-light caress.

_Had he kissed me last night, then gone off to her?_

I felt my eyes well up with tears, and shoved them down angrily. Stupid, stupid.

I didn't even _like_ him.

But at the same time I instantly recognized that it the tears weren't for Malfoy.

'What is it about me that makes me so leavable?' the treacherous thought leapt unbidden to my mind, and once again, I felt that old familiar tightness in my chest, like someone had a hold of my heart and was slowly squeezing. It was a feeling that had been lurking in the background waiting… just waiting. It was how I'd felt when I walked in on Magnus and that other woman, and at the time I'd let myself be furious instead of let myself feel crushed, but now I couldn't help but feel that I'd nearly exhausted my supplies of anger.

And it was so much easier to be angry than it was to be in pain.

_God, I feel lonely_.

I shook my head, and my hair flew wildly around me.

No time for this now. I had a life to get on with, and I certainly wasn't going to let some unfounded feeling of inadequacy get in my way. I took three deep, calming breaths, and then convinced myself that what I really needed to cheer up was an expensive lunch on my boss' tab.

All I really wanted to do was to go straight home, and call up Harry and Ron for moral support.

"Well _that_ was definitely a date."

"Ron." My voice had a warning tone, and I was immediately glad I hadn't told them about the kiss.

"Ron's right… at least if we are to believe the Daily Prophet." Harry chimed in, with a grin.

"Harry, you of all people should know what a sham the society section of the Daily Prophet is."

He just shrugged.

"There were pictures, you know, of the two of you dancing… or, I suppose of you dancing, and then when you stopped dancing." Ron supplied, with a grin.

I blushed. "It was faked!" I protested.

To which Harry mumbled (though not low enough for us not to hear him) "I'll bet it was."

"Harry, that isn't funny."

"I'm just saying," he replied with another shrug.

"Well, _stop_ saying it. It isn't true, and frankly, I find the idea rather disturbing."

"So disturbing that you had lunch with him today?" questioned Ron.

"Yes, Ron, I had lunch with him today, and was so stressed out from the experience that I had to floo home directly, and drag my two best friends over for a game of cards and a chat to calm my nerves… for Christ's sake, you saw me, did I _look_ like I'd enjoyed myself."

Ron chuckled, and Harry shook his head emphatically (probably hoping I wouldn't see his smirk when he moved his head like that).

And then I sighed, time to switch this to a more serious discussion… "And to make matters worse, I almost cried right there on the street."

"Hermione?" Harry asked sobering instantly.

Ron laid down his cards, and scooted his chair around to throw a consoling arm around me. "Surely he wasn't that awful to you…" he started, a bit awkwardly, "because if he _was_… well, Harry and I…"

I shook my head, "no, it wasn't _that_ prat this time…it was the other one."

"Magnus?" Harry asked, between clenched teeth.

"It was nothing, guys, I think I must just be feeling over emotional… you know, getting ready to start my monthly, or something." And I tried not to snicker at their look of horror at the mention of menstruation (men were such babies), but I was trying to discuss this seriously. "It's just that, well something happened, and it… it just reminded my of how I felt when I realized Magnus was seeing that secretary behind my back."

"I don't know if _seeing_ is the appropriate word for what he was doing." Ron said grimly.

"No, I suppose it isn't at that… anyway I just suddenly felt… I don't know…"

Harry gave me a look that I knew meant he saw right through me, "since when do you 'not know' something?"

"It's stupid." Ron squeezed my shoulder in an 'out with it gesture.' "Well… I just had one of those masochistic moments of wondering what _I_ did wrong… you know, why do the men in my life always leave me? Question's like that."

I watched my two best friends shift uncomfortably, torn between their desire to be supportive and their desire to _not_ talk about feelings.

"It's alright, boys, we don't need to get all mushy here," I assured them. "It isn't like I'm about to burst into tears or anything, and I don't really need to _talk_ about it… I just wanted to be with friends after feeling like the wolves were after me today."

They visible relaxed, and Ron slid his chair back into place so we could resume our game, only just as he picked his cards back up, there was a tapping at the window.

_Omen, _I immediately thought and turned to the window… only it wasn't the temperamental falcon that greeted me.

"Carlise"


	25. dinner with the devil

this would have been up last night, but I found myself falling asleep at the keyboard...

well I would have hoped for more after such a long haitus, but this is all I got for now. enjoy!

"Carlise?" Ron asked as Harry was saying,

"Isn't that Whittier's bird?"

I nodded to both of their questions, and felt my throat get tight and dry.

"What's he want?" asked Ron.

"How am I supposed to know?" I snapped, because my nerves were already shot long before Carlise showed up. "I'll go check." It sounded shaky, even to my ears.

Magnus writing after all this time had to mean trouble. Prat couldn't have picked a better day, could he?

By now it had been over a full minute, and Carlise was beginning to get impatient, hooting and tapping at the window insistently, her wide eyes blinking, searching for the owl treats she knew I kept (left over from days when Magnus' owl was a more common sight at my window, and I'd gone out of my way to buy her favorite).

"Maybe you should get that," Harry prodded.

"Or I could get it for you," Ron offered in a distinctly disturbing tone of voice.

I was tempted for a moment, then thought better of it. It wasn't poor Carlise's fault her owner was a self-centered bastard, and I didn't trust Ron not to overreact. Not, of course, that Ron was usually cruel to owls, but who knew if he'd make an exception to the rule for the guy who broke my heart? I decided it was better not to chance it.

Besides, there was no way Ron would be able to resist a peak at that letter, and the last thing I needed was him flying off the handle. What if he apparated to Magnus' apartment? It would be fun to watch, but assault on an auror carried heavy penalties.

And I doubted Magnus had anything to say to me that wouldn't result in anger. "I've got it," I told my best redheaded friend, and scooted my chair back, and, laying my cards on the table with a "don't peak, boys," for warning, I stood, and made my way to the window by way of the mantelpiece (where I kept my owl treats).

Carlise watched my progress intently, her gaze following me from the table to the fireplace and back across the room to the window, where I lifted the latch. She fluttered into the air as I pushed the window open, and settled back on the sill as soon as it was clear, her beak dipping eagerly into the offered bowl.

"Hello, Girl. It's been a while, huh?"

She made a noise in her throat I took a greeting, but didn't stop her eating to thrust her leg out and present me with her cargo.

My fingers fumbled clumsily with the string until Harry came up behind me and snipped it with a pair of scissors.

I hadn't heard him come up on me (which said a lot for my state of mind at the moment), and when my startled eyes met his, he gave me a wink. "You looked like you needed a hand." He explained. I nodded in reply, and turned my attention back to the letter.

"What's it say?" Ron called from the kitchen, where I could hear my refrigerator opening and closing.

"None of your business." I replied automatically.

"He wants to see her tomorrow!" Harry was apparently reading over my shoulder.

"Do you mind!" I hissed at him, pulling the parchment to my chest.

"He _what_?" Ron bellowed, scrambling out of the kitchen, and ripping the letter from my grasp.

"He wants to see me tomorrow, Ron," I repeated in my best explaining voice, as I took my letter back.

"Well… there's no way you're going, right?" Ron spluttered.

I raised one eyebrow. Malfoy was rubbing off on me.

-----

We called poker knight a bust, the owl sort of ruining the jolly mood we'd had going, and the boys had offered their services as escort tomorrow, but ultimately went home with my firm denial and a "see you on Thursday" ringing in their ears, and I was left alone to brood.

It's silly, I know, but (and I'd like to believe it wasn't just me, but all women, though I've never done any extensive research on the subject) I wanted nothing more than to go the this meeting tomorrow looking as desirable as possible. It wasn't as though I wanted him back, or anything really silly like that, I just wanted him to know what exactly what he was missing. I wanted him to want me.

The moment the coast was clear, I fairly flew down the hall to my room, throwing my closet open to find the most flattering outfit I owned. And everything was just wrong. Too loud, too subdued, too dark, too light, too tight, oh way way too loose… suddenly my wardrobe was comprised entirely of outfits that made me look horrendous. Malfoy would probably be proud of me for finally coming to admit it.

Malfoy…

Of course!

I pushed past everything else, reaching deep, deep down, into the farthest recesses of my closet, and pulled up an unopened clothing package.

It couldn't hurt, right? I mean, I wasn't exactly overly confident in Malfoy's taste, but I'd already considered and discarded everything else, hadn't I? So really, there was no reason not to just… open it up… and… take… a… peak…

I prepared myself for the worst, and lifted the lid.

And closed it right back up again. Took a breath, and lifted it one more time to make sure that I'd seen correctly.

I picked up the dress by the straps, and pulled it out of the box, giving it an appreciative whistle. It was fine silk, almost sheer, and a shade of blue that flirted dangerously with green where the light hit it. The real kicker, though, were the copper threads. They comprised the straps, and were woven randomly into the body of the dress. It did not escape my notice that the color set off my hair and eyes.

I'll be damned, but Malfoy had a phenomenal eye.

The dress would be a bit much for Salvatore's, the muggle Italian restaurant that Magnus had chosen for tomorrow (a place we frequented, as wizarding establishments would have been a higher risk factor for running into someone from work), but I thought that might just work to my advantage. Meeting at Salvatore's seemed a blatant attempt at sentimentality, and out dressing Magnus might be the best way to turn the tables… make _him_ uncomfortable.

My eyes traveled up the slit on the right side of the dress, and I smiled… yes, it would do nicely.

And suddenly, I was on alert, my eyes darting to the still open window, and what I could almost have sworn was the sound of wingbeats, but my eyes met only the night.

------------

There was a letter from Malfoy sitting on the kitchen table the next morning. I saw it immediately, but despite the fact that it's mere presence was making me nervous, I refused to read it on an empty stomach. I had enough to deal with today, without having to deal with my number one annoyance before breakfast. What if he said something to interfere with my enjoyment of my pancakes? No, I deserved to derive pleasure from my meal today. So I pushed the letter out of sight, and out of mind.

Instead, I tried to focus on putting the pancakes into my mouth and chewing. I was incredibly nervous about meeting Magnus later, after all, and was infinitely glad that I hadn't put on any weight since the last time I'd seen him.

And then I decided that that wasn't a healthy topic of thought either. I decided to take this morning of my last day off to try and make some more headway in the Ridgback case. Malfoy may have insisted that Serena Geranium was not a suspect, but I still wasn't sure. Something about that name fired neurons in my head that wouldn't let me just drop it. I decided over my third pancake that I'd spend the morning looking over the Daily Prophet archives in the London Wizard Library.

My morning decided, I forewent a shower (I'd just have to take another one in a few hours anyway, when I was readying for the evening) and pulled on a pair of not-too-dirty blue jeans, and a black t-shirt (the outfit of choice for a morning spent combing through archives). A quick (but thorough) brushing of my teeth, and I was in my fireplace with a handful of floo powder, and a moment after that, I was stepping out of the huge ornate hearth in the lobby of the LWL.

I gave myself a quick dusting, and hoped I didn't have any ash smeared across my face, then I made a b-line for the archives.

It didn't take too much time to find mention of Serena Geranium. I mean, I was there for over three hours, but considering I had maybe four years worth of news to go through from the period right before Lucius Malfoy's return to prison (and Draco Malfoy's subsequent take over of the company) to the present, three hours wasn't all that long a time. And after reading the article, I knew why my brain had seized upon Serena as being involved. Less than a year after Malfoy's take over, she'd thrown herself from a tower. Her family confirmed that she'd been suffering from a growing depression, and her sister, an R. Geranium, was certain it was because of the loss of her job.

Now that I'd read the archives, I remembered this case. Malfoy int. had been vilified in the media, but Malfoy had refused to comment. Could that be the motive? Maybe I'd track down this R. Geranium.

It was odd that the Prophet wouldn't supply her name, but it wouldn't take much digging to find the birth records from St. Mungo's.

It certainly was strong motive, though. Revenge for your sister's suicide. I wondered if that had anything to do with Malfoy's reaction to the mention of her. Could he have been feeling guilty?

It was a scary thought… it would mean that Malfoy was almost human.

But all this cloak and dagger would have to wait, I realized with a start. The clock in the archive room read a quarter to three, and I still had a million things to do before I was ready tonight.

----------

I suppose, all things considered, it really wasn't all that surprising to find that the dress fit me like a glove (a particularly sexy, elegant glove). Malfoy had, after all, been responsible for that dragonhide number. Still, wearing the reminder of Malfoy's uncanny visual talents was a bit disconcerting, but it hung off my shoulders in a teasing caress, and clung to my hips like a lover, and I looked damned good in it, and that was exactly what I was going for at the moment.

I was terribly glad I hadn't worn it to the opening. A picture of Malfoy and I was bad enough. A picture of Malfoy and myself in this dress could potentially kill my reputation all-together.

And I was terribly glad I had worn it tonight. Magnus wouldn't know what'd hit him.

I let the concierge show me to the table where Magnus was waiting, and gave him a nod as he left me with my companion.

"Hermione," Magnus greeted, and I took a certain feminine pride in the huskiness of his voice.

"Magnus?" I countered coolly.

"You're early." His eyes followed me to my seat, and I knew he was watching my legs through the slit. Magnus had always been a sucker for nice legs.

"So are you," I observed, picking up my menu and looking at the aperitifs in an attempt to hide my smile.

He gave an uncomfortable cough, and I felt my smile deepen involuntarily.

How should I do it? Let him down easily, or, rip his heart from his chest, and stomp all over it, like he did mine.

"I don't recognize that dress," he said, after a moment.

"I didn't own it when were together," I informed him.

"Well, I wish you had, you look absolutely incredible.

I couldn't wipe the grin from my face.

"Oh?"

He coughed again. "I guess we should get down to business, huh?" he asked.

I prepared myself. Here it comes… _please, please… Hermione, I love you_

"I hear you're working for Malfoy these days."

_Take me back, darling._ Wait… what?

"I mean, I saw you in the paper with him, you must be pretty close to him by now."

"Um…" I was confused, caught off guard. "Not really."

"Oh, well, surely you're getting a little bit of an idea of how his business works… I mean, I know you, you can't help but figure things out."

But my confusion was clearing up quickly. "Did you invite me hear to discuss Malfoy's business?" I asked darkly, as the floor was dropping out from underneath me.

"What?" he seemed shocked at my anger. "you know we've been after him for years now. You were one of the biggest proponents of the act."

I stood, pushing my chair back. "Don't owl me again," I warned.

"Wait… Hermione… Hermione? Hermione, you still look beautiful." He called to my retreating back.

"Get bent," I instructed, as I stormed off.

-------

Alohamora didn't work on my door. It was a safety precaution, of course. I wouldn't want just any wizard barging in here whenever they felt like it. It had seemed like an outstanding idea when I'd placed the charm. Now I'd just walked home in uncomfortable pumps to blow off a little steam, and had to dig through my purse for keys with vision made foggy by unshed angry tears. All I wanted in the world was to be on the other side of that door, curled around a pint of iced cream and the bottle of scotch I'd bought at the corner store.

I felt relief sweep outward from the pit of my stomach as I finally (_finally_) heard the click of the key in the lock, and then felt its progression halt, and reverse, snapping inward with the force of a physical blow. I felt like throwing up. Malfoy was here.

He'd pulled my old, ratty armchair over to face the door, and I had to wonder if he'd intentionally angled the lamp just so in order to cast his face into ominous shadow. I wouldn't put it past him… he was such a drama queen.

"It's about time, Granger." The amusement in his voice hid an underlying fury.

"What are you doing here?"

He tossed something at my feet, and I looked down to find an unopened envelope. "You didn't read my letter," he said darkly.

"Go away, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood." The sad thing is that I couldn't even muster up the energy to be really, really angry with him.

"Whittier." And his voice sounded so poisonous that it sent icy fingers dancing across my spine.

"What?" I replied, as though I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Whittier." He cocked his head, leaning forward so that the light caught his sharp, elegant features. "Magnus Whittier… surely you remember him, you were shagging him for months, weren't you?"

"How do you know that?"

"My dear, everyone knows that." His grin held no warmth. I thought of how charming he'd been yesterday, and the way he'd danced his way back into my good graces the night before, and was once again baffled at how this could possibly be the same man. He seemed ready to murder now. "That dress looks good on you, by the way. Wore it out this evening, did you? To see an old friend."

"That isn't any of your business." I informed him.

"It is when you're _discussing_ my business. Your old friends down at the ministry seem hell bent on finding fault with me, and I have it on good authority that you were out with you're old pal Whittier tonight, in that," he paused to give me an appreciative look, "absolutely stunning little number I bought for you."

"For God's sake, I didn't ask you to buy me this dress. If you're so possessive of it, why don't you just pee on it?" Men! Sometimes they just made me sick. I felt all the rage I'd had toward Magnus this evening, seeking out a new target.

And it all evaporated in an impotent puff as I found myself gazing directly into Malfoy's steel eyes. I would never understand how he managed to move so fast and so quietly, like a breath. And there he was, inches from me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his sharp, pepper and clove smell. "I have a better idea." I held my breath as he leaned over to retrieve the envelope, and let it out in a nervous rush as he straightened and grabbed my chin. He cupped it, as though it were fragile, and I felt every muscle in my body tense in anticipation.

"It has the details of your next job in it," he said, shoving the envelope into my chest, and brushing past me, "I came here to brief you, but I really don't feel like discussing it now… by the way, Granger, clean yourself up, your mascaras running."

I slammed the door after him, and screamed in frustration. Then I threw it wide again.

"Fuck off, Malfoy!"

"That's what I have assistants for, Granger!" he shouted back, without even turning.

That was disgusting, and I barely restrained myself from hurling something heavy at him. I slammed the door again, and then did it a couple more times for good measure… and then I found myself sliding down it, those threatening tears running more freely now.

It was always two steps forward, one step back with us, wasn't it.


End file.
